


The Boy from the Other Side

by Sheksper



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Art, Baking, Blood and Injury, Curses, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Fairy Tale Curses, Fluff, Galra Keith (Voltron), Galra Shiro (Voltron), Gardens & Gardening, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Injured Lance (Voltron), Keith and Shiro are Siblings, Langst, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Reunions, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Stargazing, Storytelling, Swearing, The Girl From The Other Side AU, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved, broganes, klangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-11-14 02:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 94,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11198508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheksper/pseuds/Sheksper
Summary: An abandoned village. A contagious curse. A kingdom of lies. And a small house in the woods.The Galra and the Alteans were never supposed to know each other, but when an Altean village boy loses everything he has and is left with no choice but to trust a reclusive Galran, they begin to realize that sometimes, you can't save everyone.Will either of them get back what they once lost?Will they be able to regain their old lives?





	1. In Clawed We Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo!  
> What's up, name's Sheksper. I'm sure y'all don't wanna hear another "long time reader, first time writer" speech so I'll spare you. We'll get right into the important junk.  
> This is a The Girl From The Other Side AU. If you haven't read that book series, it's a manga, it only has two volumes out as of right now, and it's ongoing, but it's really good and you should read it if you're into that.  
> Having said that, this work has really no spoilers for the plot, it just takes the basic premise.  
> Pidge, Hunk, and Coran are briefly mentioned but don't actually appear. Blink and you'll miss them.  
> This thing has already been written because I don't trust myself to post something with the possibility of dropping it and I know I get sad when a story has twenty year hiatuses in between each chapter. So don't worry about that. I'll post the next chapter every three days and it will be right on time unless there are complications.  
> Chapter lengths vary from 2,000 words to 10,000 words. Just depends on what's going down in that chapter.  
> I also wanna thank my beta reader, we're going to call her Yaoi Paws because she hates that. Thanks Yaoi Paws, you're the best!  
> And I also wanna thank my sister for helping me out with how romance works because I apparently don't know.  
> Voltron; Legendary Defender is owned by DreamWorks Animation TV, World Events Productions, and Studio Mir. The Girl from the Other Side is owned by Nagabe.  
> Other than that, enjoy.

Footsteps. Hard and heavy. Sticks snapping. Leaves shaking. Rustling. Shifting.

Noise. A barrage of sounds.

The boy’s feet pounded against the forest floor. Dirt kicked up behind him as he ran, collecting on the hem of his pants, but he paid that no mind. Weaving and bobbing through the towering trees was enough distraction from the minor annoyance of dirt that he kept his face up. Breath came fast and shallow, his lungs burned from the constant exertion. Long, finger-like twigs scraped at his shirt and bare arms leaving behind small nicks; also ignored. Leaves of varying types brushed his legs and arms but despite the constant strokes offered to him by nature, a warning to slow down, he pushed forward. He could feel the sweat from his hairline dotting his forehead and reached up to haphazardly wipe it away, never once breaking his stride.

  
The trees finally tapered off, leaving a wide-open hill on the edge of the forest which offered a view to the quiet village below. The boy stuttered to a stop, staring down. Panting, he braced his palms against his knees and hunched into himself, head still aimed toward the small town. His eyes searched the streets and the houses for any sign of life but there was none. Grey clouds threatening rain had spread themselves along the skyline. It cast further gloom to the small buildings lining the stone pathways. Cold wind tore across the boy’s face like needles. He hadn’t noticed it before but it only barely registered in the back of his mind. A creeping sense of panic etched its way through his throat but he pushed it down with empty reassurances. _It’s just a quiet day, that’s all._ It did nothing to ebb his fears.

  
He pushed himself up and clambered down the hill, doing his best not to trip and tumble. Once on the solid stone path, he jogged along, raking the houses with his searching eyes. The village felt even more desolate up close than it did from the hill. The panic resurged. Ignoring the fire in his lungs and the pounding of his heart, he raced onward, sprinting around corners and darting through alleyways. Every step he hoped maybe he would run into someone, anyone. The village was pretty large, it couldn’t be entirely empty. There was no way that many people could just vanish. It had only been a week and a half. That’s not enough time for everyone to suddenly decide to up and leave.

  
Mental maps of the small town flooded his mind and he pushed forward, narrowly missing running directly into building corners as he turned. His breathing came out faster, he was nearing his home, he realized. The house he had been searching for quickly came into view and his heart lurched. They would be home. They would be there. They wouldn’t have left without him. They just wouldn’t.

  
Finally reaching the small building, he ripped the door open and hurried inside. Quickly though, he stopped in his tracks. Everything was exactly where he had remembered it being. Nothing had been touched. But something foreboding still hung in the air. “Mama?” He called, cautiously. No answer came. He swallowed. “Papa?” Nothing. Tears welled up in his eyes and he sniffed, willing them to recede back.

  
His watery eyes glided around the small area and landed at the doorway in the far corner of the front room; he could see the dinner table in the next room over. Although he didn’t need to see it. He could smell it just fine. Rotting meat was on the table, sitting in a small dish. Flies buzzed around it and the boy almost gagged at the wave of senses the meat caused. He pulled the collar of his baggy, white shirt over his nose in an attempt to block the scent out. His shirt reeked of sweat, but anything would be better than decay, the boy reasoned. The idea of rotting meat clung to the forefront of his mind though, despite his desires to forget it entirely. He stepped gingerly toward the table. Five plates were set up on the small surface, utensils and cups placed around each plate. The meat was worse up close. It was only a dish with a couple slabs of… pork? There were bits and pieces on each plate, some appearing half eaten. He gagged at the thought of someone eating this now. Muted green melted into grey tinging across the not-meat. Specks of brown and pink littered the spread, alluding to a once fresh dinner. Vegetables were piled on each plate. What kind of vegetable they were was impossible to tell as they were nothing but leaking remnants of something once edible. Small squares of soft bread sat in each plate. Rich green mold clung from the pieces and blue spots lined the crust. The smell was indescribable and the boy staggered back, pressing the fabric into his nose as far as he could, almost bruising.

  
What had happened that everyone was forced to leave, without even finishing their dinner, no less? Fresh fear clawed up his throat, mixing with the rising bile at the rotting food. Tears leaked from his face and trailed down his cheeks. Whether it was from the state of his family’s last dinner or the fact it was his family’s last dinner, he would never say. His feet stepped slowly back until his back hit the wall and he scrunched his eyes closed. His mother’s smiling face was recalled, followed closely by memories of the rest of his family. His mother baking pies, rolling the dough, spreading flour, making clean pastry strips, showing him how to criss-cross them properly. His father taking him out to their small farm, showing him how to tell crops apart, how to know when they were ready for harvest, helping him dig the potatoes up from the earth, comparing it to a treasure hunt to lure the boy’s young mind into excitement at the prospect of helping. His older sister racing across the cobblestone paths, always carrying baskets of flowers, bright smile on her face, showing him where all the best flower fields were, teaching him to weave the snipped blooms together into crowns, laughing when he got it wrong the first few times. His younger brother always trailing behind him when he went into town, mischievous and troublesome, always snagging bits and pieces of food from various stands and stores in the marketplace only to be scolded and forced to apologize, leading the groups of other kids his age from their area of the village, guiding them into adventures and journeys. His younger sister asking him to reach apples from trees she was still too short to grasp the branches of, braiding her hair or enlisting his help, basking in the sun from the windows like a cat, singing soft songs she learned from their mother.

  
His heart clenched at the memories that flooded his thoughts. This was no longer his home. Tears streamed faster, he felt nauseated. He turned to stumble out the way he had entered, not bothering to close the door behind him. Fresh air flooded his nostrils as he dropped his shirt from his grasp and let himself tumble into the siding of the building. He gasped, sucking in as much air as his lungs could hold before forcing it out. The tears continued to come but he scrubbed violently at his eyes in an attempt to stop them, although it did nothing. Empty streets echoed with the sounds of his sobbing, wheezes and hiccups.

  
It felt like a much shorter time than it was but eventually the tears did begin to let up. Cold stone bit his fingers as he pushed against the wall into a standing position, tendrils of lichen tickling as he pulled his hand away again. He took one last shaking breath before steeling his gaze and glancing around the houses in the area, still devoid of any Altean life. There was still a good portion of the village that he hadn’t searched yet and despite knowing logically that no one was going to be there, a small bit of hope had still thread its way inside him. There wasn’t much else he could do anyway. The sky had only darkened since he had arrived and his stomach began to make its presence known again with small grumblings. How he could possibly think of food after the sickening display of decay on his kitchen table and the hollow pain resulting from his family’s disappearance only served to further prove just how desperately his body required food.

  
His legs wobbled, but he shoved thoughts of his family to the far reaches of his mind and soldiered on. Cobblestone, being the hard surface it was, amplified the steps of his shoes as he moved. He hadn’t been aware of it when he had entered the town earlier, certainly due to his laser-focus on finding his family. But one tends to notice all eerie sounds when one isn’t in a hurry, and the shadowed fingers of night began to inch closer, cascading the village in a shallow blanket of darkness. The boy paid no mind to the new fear that plagued him, much different than the last. He rounded corners and wandered barren streets until the mental map that had been leading him bled from his mind and he no longer could tell where exactly he was. The darkness definitely didn’t help. Had he zoned out while he was walking or had night always been that quick to claim?

  
The more he wandered, the darker it got, the hungrier he got, the more exhausted he felt, and the more hopeless he realized this all was. There was no one. No one was left in this village. He had just begun to let his thoughts fall into sorrow again, when he noticed it. There, past two rows of houses to his right, flickering dimly; a light.

  
All sense of hopelessness was cleansed from him as he raced toward the glow. He could barely see ten feet in front of him, and thus kept tripping over whatever was on the path, he wasn’t sure, didn’t care, really. The light was the only thing he cared about in that moment. There was a person! There was someone still in the village! Maybe they knew where his family had gone? Where anyone had gone, for that matter.

  
He turned the last house and stopped in his tracks. The light was there, flowering from a small lantern, which was being clasped by a figure in a long black coat reaching their ankles. The person hadn’t noticed him yet, seemingly too distracted with a basket of fresh bread held in their other hand. Relief flooded the boy and he stepped toward the person and further into the light. The figure suddenly became aware of his presence and whipped around to stare at him.

  
The boy’s breath caught in his throat. He stopped moving instantly. Eyes widened. Panic flaring. Body frozen. Heart beating. He stared, unable to look away. The person – if you could even call them that – seemed in a similar state. Their eyes were blown wide which only fueled the feeling in the boy that everything was _very wrong._

  
The eyes staring back at him were yellow. No sclera, no iris, no pupil, just solid yellow. And they glowed. The lantern almost seemed useless at that moment with how brightly those yellow eyes illuminated the boy. He began to realize too, that although the eyes were striking, they weren’t the only noteworthy thing about this person – creature? Their skin was purple. A deep purple that the boy had only ever seen on berries in the forest that he had been told not to eat. They also had ears, and that in itself may not have been abnormal, it was that they were enormous cat-like ears, on top of their head. It appeared like they were covered in fur too, but he couldn’t be sure in the deathly lighting.

  
The creature took a tentative step backward, hand clutching the lantern tighter and… were those claws…? His thoughts were interrupted when it spoke. “You’re-“ It wasn’t much of a conversation starter, that was for sure, but he could tell at least that this being spoke English and was more likely than not, a male. The purple being stepped back again and he realized that the humanoid looked just as fearful as he felt, in fact it almost looked in awe. It probably hadn’t expected an Altean considering the state of the village.

  
There was really no other choice for him, he reasoned, maybe this creature had food. Maybe this creature could help. He ignored his fear and stepped forward, almost mechanically. “Lance.” He said, his voice ringing out clear, louder than intended due to the buzzing silence between the both of them. No hand returned his, however, the creature just stepped back, mirroring his movement. Silence. Eyes watching him, calculating. Slowly, he lowered his hand and awkwardly wiped it on his pant leg, averting his gaze. Pupils or no, this being had a hell of a glare that Lance couldn’t keep, no matter how fascinating its eyes may be. “Um, do you… do you know where everyone went…?” He wasn’t sure that was the first question he wanted to ask, but even being in a state of fear, he figured that asking about the creature directly might not be the best course of action.

  
Light suddenly fell, no longer on Lance’s face, causing him to stare back at the being. Its ears were flattened against its long black hair and it was inspecting its lantern. “Gone…” It muttered. There it was again, that low, husky voice, completely devoid of any sort of growl as Lance had imagined it might have. Altean sounding. “How are you here?” Its voice fell, softening considerably from its previous hard tone. So much so that Lance wasn’t even sure if it was speaking to him or not. He answered regardless.

  
“I was across the mountain, there’s a good place for hunting there. I was only gone a week and a bit, but…” His voice trailed off and his eyes fell again, this time to the lantern.

  
The being shifted abruptly, staring hard at Lance. Any trace of awkward caution stripped from it as they stood straight. Although a couple inches shorter than Lance, it still exuded control and Lance couldn’t help but wither slightly under its glare. “You shouldn’t be here.” Voice hard again, louder than it had been before. The darkness almost seemed to coagulate around it. “Go back.” It hissed, eyes narrowing. Blood ran cold inside Lance’s veins and he was almost certain he was about to be killed. He braced.

  
Instead, however, the being quickly turned and stomped off toward the forest edge, past the gate of the town entrance. The lantern swung from its arm and left Lance shrouded in the pitch black once again. As undesirable as following a presumed mythical monster into the forest after being told to go away was, it was still much better than being drenched in the unforgiving inky black of the night, cold, hungry, and tired, with nothing but the reminder of his missing village to keep him company. If the creature had a basket of bread, a lantern, and clothes, then surely it had somewhere to sleep. This thought sealed it for Lance and he raced off after the creature, tripping in the dark, only the fading lantern swinging on the path to guide him.

  
“Hey! Hey, wait!” He called, fumbling along the trail. The figure stopped, turning. Lance was relieved to see it waiting for him. He caught up quick and stared hopefully into its yellow eyes. “Please, let me stay with you? Please? Only one night!” The creature’s eyes widened.

  
“No.” It turned again.

  
“Wait! Please, I-“ He reached to grab its arm in an attempt to convince it but it noticed his movement before he could make contact.

  
_“Don’t touch me!"_ It screeched, whipping around, knocking Lance’s hand away with its lantern and stumbling backwards. Panting, it stared at him. Lance stared back, not sure what just happened but not eager to try touching it again. His hand withered in on itself, curling into a loose fist at his chest, throbbing where the lantern had collided. Its voice hadn’t sounded angry so much as it had desperate but when it spoke again, its voice was pure rage. “Are you an idiot?!” It yelled, pushing its upper body forward, brows furrowed.

“Uh…” Lance answered dumbly, unsure of what was really going on.

  
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you anything?!” Its voice was just as mad but the volume had been brought down considerably. “How are you even still alive?! I can’t– shit,” It threw its arm out to gesticulate, jostling the basket of bread, nearly flipping the contents out. The basket calmed its swinging as they froze, staring at it.

  
Lance grew more confused with every passing word and tears felt like they may breach his eyes again at the rushing realization of this situation. He reached his other hand up to absently rub at the hand which was hit. The action didn’t go unnoticed by the purple being. “Shit.” It winced at the sight of Lance’s hand. “Okay. Okay, listen. You can come with me…” It murmured, clearly hesitant to invite him. “Just… Just _don’t_ touch me.” Grimacing, it turned and stalked farther down the road while Lance clambered after. Emotions swelled in Lance at the thought of a bed and he was enraptured with the kindness of this being and – even if it began with hostility – not even pausing to consider the possibility it had any sinister motives to speak of.


	2. Wood Nymphs Did It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Siri, how do you write a Galra!Keith Klance fic without making Lance a furry?

The path was long and seemingly never ending and they trailed through the forest, passing heavy trees and thick brush, reminding Lance of his initial run through the woods earlier that day. His thoughts sifted lazily through the events that had led him to the point of following a purple, yellow eyed, being to who-even-knows-where. They had been walking for a while now – Lance had honestly lost track of time – and yet they still didn’t seem any closer to a place that could be considered a house. Was he even being led to a house? The being hadn’t said anything too concrete during their conversation – was it even a conversation? – about what type of place he lived in, just a lot of cryptic yelling and muttering. Those had been the last things the humanoid had said too, which was beginning to turn worrying. Maybe it just wasn't much of a talker? Or was this an ominous silence? You don’t make conversation with your food, after all. No, those thoughts would accomplish nothing, stop that. Perhaps its species just wasn’t very talkative. Is it just as tired as Lance? _Should I say something…?_ Lance was debating what sort of conversation starter would suffice when he was beaten to the punch.

“We’re here.” Its voice sounded just as hard and angry as seemed to be its default. Lance had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed when a looming stone building snuck up on his left. It was difficult to see in the darkness and the limited light offered by the lantern but from what he could make out, it wasn’t much bigger than his own house. There was a stump next to the house with an axe lodged in it, aimed upward. A large stack of log pieces was piled alongside the house. It appeared as though there was more farther around the house but the lantern only reached so far and Lance gave up straining his eyes. Squeaking sounds alerted him and he turned to see the being opening the door to the house and holding it open. It propped it open with its boot and stared at Lance expectantly. It took Lance off guard to be reminded of its glowing eyes again due to trailing behind them the entire walk, but he quickly pushed his renewed surprise away and shuffled through the doorframe into the house.

He was followed closely by the purple creature, who closed the door behind them. Lance moved to make room for it to lead the way after it became clear to him that its was serious about the ‘no touching’ rule. The kitchen was through a small archway right of the front door and Lance was pleasantly surprised at the cleanliness of it. Not to say he expected it to be in disarray either though. There was a small four-person table and a couple of brooms in the corner. A tap came out of the wall over a small basin. Chimney, above a small fireplace with a pot rigged up over top of it. It sauntered over to the fireplace and grasped one of the sticks from the ash and carefully pushed it into the lantern opening, letting it catch fire before returning it to the fireplace. Another slab of wood was placed on top of the fire and in short time, a small fire was blazing.

Lance, meanwhile, quietly sat in one of the chairs, taking in the room. He hadn’t even noticed what the other was doing until a small, damp cloth was slapped on the table in front of him, causing him to jump. “Put that on your hand.” It sat across from Lance at the small table and quietly watched him pick it up, swiping it gingerly across the mark left by the lantern. It hadn’t broken skin, thankfully, but Lance still winced at the contact. “I have some herbs if you need?” Its voice was gentler than Lance had ever heard it yet. He glanced up at the being and saw it looking at his hand, an expression of guilt on its features. At least, Lance guessed it was guilt. Lance was beginning to notice that eyes expressed a great deal of emotion and without their distinct features, it was harder to read people. He stared back down at his hand.

“I think it’s okay.” He said, swiping the cloth over it a couple more times. “So, I never caught your name.” Lance questioned, growing more confident that he was not in any danger by the concern he was being shown.

It glared up at him, seemingly sensing Lance’s growing smug comfort. “Keith.” Came the deadpan reply.

Ah, so they were a dude, Lance had been correct. Although he was also expecting a much more imposing name. Keith seemed sort of, well, not.

“Really? It’s not something like, Moon Claw, or…?” Lance quirked an eyebrow.

Keith bristled. “ _No.”_ The hard tone returned. “I’m not a werewolf, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Eyebrows furrowed again. Was that his default facial expression? “Obviously, you wouldn’t know that if you’re trying to touch me.” He muttered under his breath, the passive aggression not lost on Lance.

The fireplace’s glow brought to light Keith’s purple ears and Lance noted that, yes, there was fur there. He also noted that the eyes didn’t have any defining parts to them just as he had suspected under the lantern, it hadn’t been a trick of the light. Tapping on the table. Lance’s eyes followed the noise and saw Keith’s claws clicking on the wood. Funny, Lance could have sworn they were longer when they were outside. Perhaps that one was a product of fear and adrenalin. The more Lance inspected the other man – could he be called that? – the more he came to realize that Keith was right, Lance had no idea what the heck he was and touching seemed to play a role in that.

Lance stared up again into Keith’s steady gaze, trying not to flinch. “I was _trying_ to be considerate but if you’re going to be like that then no point in beating around the bush; why are you purple?” He had many more questions aside from the purple hue but he felt that that really encompassed everything in its own way.

Fire flickered in the hearth and Keith turned to gaze into it, seemingly lost in thought. Lance waited patiently, although getting more curious as the silence passed. “I’m Galran.” His gaze hardened with his words.

“Wait, you mean like those fairy tales you tell kids so they don’t wander into the woods?” He tried not to laugh at this, although he wasn’t sure why it was funny at all.

“Yeah, well, they’re not fairy tales. The curse is real.” Was Keith pouting?

“Curse? That was never in the story?” It was Lance’s turn to furrow his eyebrows.

“Then it was told to you wrong.” Keith shifted in his chair, straightening his back like he had at the village. Lance was beginning to associate this action with powerful words and his interest was fully peaked. “Dark magic cursed Alteans with the Galra curse. It infects the soul and changes you. If even a bit of the curse clings to you, you’ll be transformed into… this. And you remain this way forever. You can’t touch me. If you do, you’ll catch the curse.” His back relaxed slightly, though he still appeared stoic in posture. “My theory is the forest guardian or wood nymphs did it.” His tone dropped into something conspiratorial.

Processing the information, Lance’s eyes widened. Those had only ever been stories to read to his younger sister, passed down from his mother. Children’s tales, meant to keep the adventurous and rebellious from losing themselves in the forest. Kids like his brother, who would hardly step foot in the forest alone after hearing the folklore of the Galra. And yet, here he was, at a table in the woods with a real Galran. A real snarky Galran, at that.

“Wood nymphs…? Do you seriously believe in wood nymphs?” He raised his eyebrows and tried not to smile at the ridiculousness of the theory.

Keith’s face got angrier, if that were even possible, and he lifted a gloved hand – paw? – to point at his ears, which he flapped back and forth on his head to illustrate the idea that he, himself, was a mythical creature, and by extension, wood nymphs could be real too. Any composure Lance may have had was lost and he pushed out a sudden laugh, nearly hitting his face on the table as he curled inwards. The bitter expression on Keith’s face mixed with his ear trick had to be on the list of most hilariously adorable things Lance had ever seen.

Abruptly, the chair across from him slid back, scraping the floor. Lance jolted up, laughing still. If it was possible through all the purple, Keith’s face had tinged red with embarrassment. “If that’s all you wanted, you can leave now!” He huffed, walking towards the hallway at the entrance. Lance’s laughter stopped quickly at that.

“No, no, no, wait!” He flung himself up from the table, nearly hitting his hand on the edge in the process, to turn to Keith who was halfway through the archway. “Please let me stay!” It was difficult to keep the desperation out of his voice at that point. He had thought he secured a place in The Keith Hotel, but apparently not. “You haven’t told me about the village, either!” The fact he had nowhere else to go went unsaid but Lance had an underlying feeling that Keith knew anyway.

Ears flattened on his head and his shoulders fell slightly as he exhaled, still faced away from Lance. A beat passed. He reached up and unhooked his coat jacket, letting it slide down his arms and back before swiftly collecting it on his elbow and wandering back towards the front entrance. Lance watched him from around the corner as he also removed his gloves and a – sword? Was that under his coat the whole time? What the heck? That’s not worrying in the least. Lance quickly shuffled back and tumbled into his chair. Footsteps rang out on the wood floor and Keith rounded the bend, still pointedly _not_ looking to Lance, who, for some reason, thought the idea of having a sword was more threatening than the fact he was an actual fairy tale monster.

Keith stepped toward the kitchen and grabbed the basket of bread he had left on the counter. He set about the little shelves lined with pots and pans, plates of different sizes, varying sorts of cups and glasses. The soft firelight warmed the area and Lance used its light to further inspect the homeowner now that he had removed his long, shapeless coat. He had a light grey, near white, collared button up shirt which hugged his arms comfortably. It was topped with a black fitted vest, which seemed to be the type you pulled over your head rather than the type to tie or button in the front. Long black slacks adorned his legs and ended just above his ankles. Lance shifted around the table and peered at his feet. He hadn’t removed the black tie up boots he had entered with. Who doesn’t take their shoes off indoors? Was he an animal? Well…

Not that Lance was much better. He shifted his gaze to his own shoes.

Thoughts tumbled back to what Keith had told him. Did this mean Keith was once Altean? How long had he been this way? It couldn’t have been more than a week or two. He seemed to be handling it pretty well, especially since the entire village was gone and this person was no longer a person. Lance shivered at the thought of such a transformation. The outskirts of his mind were about to push more memories of his family to the foreground but they were stopped immediately as Keith spoke.

“The village,” He began, rolling up his sleeves to reveal more purple skin, never turning to face the Altean but speaking loud enough for him to hear. “was evacuated. About, six days ago, the curse outbreak began. And four days ago, everyone was moved to a new village.” Swiftly, he began to chop vegetables Lance hadn’t noticed underneath the bread in the basket.

“A new village? Where is it?” A smile spread rapidly across Lance’s face. His family was alive! His family was waiting for him! “When are they coming back?”

“They’re not.”

“What? But, they can’t just _leave_ an entire village like that, they have-“ The rest of his sentence was cut short at the echoing of a knife against a wooden chopping block.

“I said, they’re _not coming back._ ” Lance could almost hear the grinding of the other's teeth as he gritted the words out, still with his back to the table.

Lance huffed, although he was still on edge. Galran or not, he couldn’t really be sure what this guy was capable of. “Then I’ll just have to go to them!” His voice raised in irritation at the Galran’s cryptic nature.

This time, he turned. “You can’t!” His voice raised in response.

“What, are you thinking of stopping me, mullet?” Lance quipped.

“I– Wha– Mullet?” His clawed hand reached back to tangle in the hair at his nape. Yellow eyes that once glowered at Lance were now wide with confusion and surprise. “It’s not a mullet! It’s just, long?” It wasn’t a statement, it was a question. Lance shifted an eyebrow up sarcastically. “Look, whatever! My hair doesn’t matter, you can’t go to the new village.” His eyes lowered back into a scowl, hand still carded in his hair.

“And just why not?” Lance, although amused by Keith’s surprise at the mullet comment, didn’t press it any further. For now.

Keith removed his hand from the nape of his neck and began pulling a bundled object out of a small crate next to one of the counters. “You don’t know where it is.” He muttered and removed the paper covering and Lance could see it was a small piece of meat. Why was it in a small crate? Odd. Also odd was the way in which his reasoning did not match his outburst…

“If you told me where it was then it wouldn’t be an issue.” Lance shifted his head back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse of what Keith was doing, but it was a fruitless endeavour.

“I can’t tell you.” He turned to stare at Lance. “You’ll get cursed if you run into another Galran, considering how close you were to touching me.” His ears twitched as he said ‘Galran’. “Or you’ll get yourself killed in the woods, wouldn’t surprise me.” Wandering over to the fire, he dropped pieces of meat into the pot hanging over top, along with some other things. Lance wasn’t entirely sure what they were.

“Rude!” He shot before quickly softening. Lance stared at Keith quietly as he tossed another hunk of wood onto the fire. “I need to find my family, Keith.” The other boy looked up at him, hearing the serious drop in his tone. They silently stared at each other for a beat.

Turning back to the pot, Keith began absently stirring. “We can talk about this tomorrow.” And with that, the topic was dropped, although both continued to think about it. Lance felt relieved though; ‘tomorrow’ meant he had ensured a place to stay after all.

Silence filled the house except for the occasional clinking of a spoon against the pot or the crackling of the fire. Keith continued to scowl at the cooking meat. Lance resumed rubbing his hand with the damp cloth, not because it hurt, but because he needed something to do, something to look at. The awkward tension of unsaid secrets and unasked questions became more and more tangible the more time went on. It made Lance antsy. He couldn’t stand to sit in silence for so long. Being a people person was one thing but after spending a week and a half in the woods without any Altean contact, it had taken its toll on Lance. His legs shifted underneath the table and he frowned. Keith seemed to be a quiet person. From what Lance could tell, he lived alone. Unless there were other cursed Galrans in the house who were just asleep? Lance peered into the front hallway to see the other doors. All closed. Maybe Keith had lived alone before being cursed too? Did Keith’s family move to the new village too? Lance wanted to question him about the whereabouts of his family but he could tell by the closed off aura radiating from the boy that he would get a bristling, flippant response at best. And so, he kept his mouth shut on the topic, left to speculate.

Eventually Keith, seemingly satisfied with the state of the meat, scooped it from the pot and carried it back to the counter. He returned to the table with a plate of food in each hand. Lance’s stomach let out a low rumble at the scent of the food placed in front of him. Fork and knife were set next to the plate along with a small cup of water Lance had watched Keith pour from a small pitcher. Keith joined him on the other end of the table and with complete silence, he began to eat. Following suit, Lance nearly forgot to chew with how hungry he was.

Between bites he clenched his eyes shut and released a low hum. His eyes opened quickly and he looked to Keith, who had his fork paused halfway to his mouth and his eyebrow raised. “Everything okay?” He asked.

Lance nodded vigorously, swallowing. “This is great. How did you make it taste like that?” The meat wasn’t like any meat he had ever had before, it had many flavours packed into it but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.

“Oh.” Keith lowered his fork. “It’s got some basil, and sage. I put some apple with it too. It’s a bit of a trial and error process.” He raised his fork again and ate the meat.

“What kind of meat is this?” Lance chewed another piece while he asked, causing Keith to grimace slightly.

“Uh, it’s rabbit.” He turned his head back to his plate, not wanting to watch Lance speak while eating again.

It was clear that Keith wasn’t sure how to approach conversation but Lance felt he was getting somewhere with the other boy. “It’s good. I mean, I could do better, but not bad for an amateur.” Lance smirked and popped another piece into his mouth.

Keith, who had been hunched over his plate, shot up straight and stared Lance in the eye, he was scowling harder than before, if that was possible. “You just said it was great!”

Lance shook his head and crossed his arms, careful not to drop his fork. “Nope. Don’t remember, didn’t happen.”

Keith’s shoulders shifted up to his ears – or at least where they should have been – and his head lowered to meet them. “As if you can cook.” He spat.

“As a matter of fact, I _can_ cook!” Lance leaned back in his chair and stared challengingly down his nose at Keith.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” A small half-smirk, half-sneer formed on Keith’s face.

Lance leaned forward and pointed a finger accusingly at the other. “You’re going to eat those words! And my food! But, you’re going to like my food. It’ll be good! Unlike your words, which are nothing but bitter, and salty, and-“

“What’re you talking about?” Keith’s eyebrows were raised.

“The point is that I am going to knock your socks off with my unbelievable cooking abilities.” He grinned triumphantly.

Keith snorted. “If you think I’m letting you anywhere near my kitchen, you’re wrong.” He took another bite of food.

“Oh, are you scared?” Lance gave a cocksure grin and went back to his meal.

“With you at the helm? _Terrified._ ”

Lance gasped in mock offence, complete with a hand to his chest in shock, and Keith smirked at the action. Dinner continued on with the same back and forth bickering lacking in any real heat. Lance would never admit it to that apathetic mullet’s face, but he enjoyed the meal more than he had been expecting to. And Keith wasn’t the worst possible company he could have been stuck with. This was another thing he would never admit to Keith. But, nonetheless he was stuck with him for the time being. He had gotten used to the purple hue of his skin, the floppy ears atop his head, and the yellow glow of his eyes, and although the claws still made Lance nervous, it was quickly becoming background noise instead of a forefront fear, as it was earlier. Keith had also given him bolstering information. It eased his mind to know that his family was not in any danger the way the village’s state had suggested. Still, the suddenness at which the townsfolk left was no less disconcerting. Did they need to leave immediately? Don’t get him wrong, Lance would prefer not to be a purple cat-like beast for the rest of his life, but Keith seemed to be nearly unaffected. At least, Lance could assume. He didn’t exactly have a reference, having only just met Keith, but aside from his agitation at talking about the curse and his hesitance towards other people, Lance guessed his witticism was present before his transformation too.

Eventually, Keith finished eating first – Lance had been somewhat busy picking up Keith’s slack when the conversation lulled – and cleaned his plate in the tiny sink basin before drying it with a cloth which hung from the rack in the wall. He placed the plate on the shelf and wandered back towards the front hall. Lance watched him leave the kitchen, unsure of what his goal was. Keith disappeared into another room across the house. The door closed and Lance turned back to his food, quickly shoving the rest into his cheeks. Did Keith just… leave him there…?

He hopped up from his seat and took his plate to the sink, copying Keith’s system of washing, cleaning, and drying the tableware. His mama didn’t raise a disrespectful slob, he had manners, even if Keith was a bit of a warped host.

“Your room is across from the kitchen. There's clothes there, they’re clean.” Lance whipped around to see Keith with his arms crossed and leaning against the frame of the arch. He shifted his arm and jabbed a thumb back towards the slightly ajar door on the other side of the hallway.

“Oh. Thanks.” Lance had thought that Keith was just going to leave him there, but he had been setting Lance’s room up. Not that Lance thought poorly of Keith, but that was actually… very nice of him. He stared at the other boy for a moment.

“Yeah.” He kicked himself away from the wall and turned down the hall. “Uh,” He paused. “Goodnight, Lance.”

“Night, Keith.” Lance, still confused, continued to stare.

Keith watched him too, from the corner of his eye. At least, Lance assumed so. It was difficult to tell where Keith was looking. “Right.” He coughed, glancing away and swiftly moving down the hall. Lance heard a door open and close. Once the house was quiet, he made his way to the room Keith had indicated. He pushed the door open and entered slowly.

It was a small, square room. There was a window on the opposite wall to the door with flowy, white curtains pulled up beside it, revealing the darkness outside. Below the window was a wooden desk. A candle was on it but he could tell it looked used and worn. Lance wandered toward the desk slowly, not forgetting to shut the door softly behind him. He ran a hand along the uneven wood, rubbing the scratches and crevices. An ornate, matching chair was set in front of the desk. Lance left that alone. He stared out the window. He could just barely make out the axe stuck in the stump he had seen earlier. Keith’s words about other Galra floated back into his mind and he lifted his hand to pull the string around each curtain, letting them drop. He wasn’t afraid of other purple monsters and he especially wasn’t afraid of the dark. Not at all. _Just don’t want any peeping Toms, that’s all._ He reasoned.

Next to the window, up against the wall, was a bed. It was made up with white sheets and looked as though it hadn’t been touched in a while. Whoever slept here was long gone, if anyone had ever slept there at all. Keith didn’t seem like the type to have a guest room. He didn’t seem like the type to have guests at all.

On the bed was a pair of long black pants along with a grey shirt. Lance ran his hand along the fabric, absentmindedly, and stared around the room. There was a bookshelf across from the bed on the far wall. Many different books were packed into the shelf. Lance recognized some of the titles as his eyes swiped along the shelves. He glanced up. Two pots sat on top. Lance furrowed his brows. Didn’t the guy have enough pots? If you have to start storing your pots in the bedroom, you may have too many. Was he stocking up for a house party? Lance didn’t think so.

He turned back to the clothes. Sighing in exhaustion, he pulled the hem of his shirt up and yanked his shirt off the rest of the way. He let it drop to the floor and replaced it with the new shirt provided to him. It was soft and thinner than he had been expecting, similar to the night gowns his mother and sisters owned. The end was slightly torn and uneven and he couldn’t help but suspect that the shirt had once been a gown itself. He kicked his shoes off and lifted his heels to pull his socks off. They had streaks of dirt along the bottom and Lance grimaced at the thought that he had been wearing those all day. He dropped them like they burned and pulled the drawstring of his pants. They fell to the floor in a heap with the rest of his clothes and he stepped out of them. Subtly, he tried to kick his clothes farther into the wall, half under the bed, before pulling the new pants on. It suddenly dawned on him that he was wearing, what he presumed to be, Keith’s clothes. He had borrowed clothes before, but never from someone who wasn’t an immediate family member or a neighbour, and that had only been when he was young. The clothes didn’t feel any different with the knowledge that they weren’t his, obviously, but his cheeks heated up nonetheless and he felt awkward. He shook his head to dispel the thoughts.

Once ready, he stared at the bed, running a hand through his tan hair before letting it drop. He wandered over to the shelf of books and gave them a once over. His eyes locked onto a certain maroon book. Pulling it off the shelf, he ran his hand along the front cover. It brought back memories of his family, which in and of itself was bittersweet, but knowing what he had recently learned, it brought a frown to his face. _The Tale of Voltron._ Without another look at the other books, he tucked the book under his arm and hurried back to the bed. He pulled the covers back and tucked himself in. It was softer than he had expected. He shifted a bit to get comfortable and then removed the book from under his arm. The light from the candle on the desk was more than enough to see what exactly he was reading and he propped the book open to the first page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it's a little confusing, Altean is just anyone not affected by the curse. So Lance is Altean and he wonders if Keith was once Altean.
> 
> [Also, I made some fucking art](https://sheksper.tumblr.com/post/169745711575/this-is-my-version-of-keith-from-my-fic-the-boy)


	3. Curiosity Killed the Cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's taking more self control than I thought I had to not post this entire fic all at once because I'm just that excited about it.

_Once upon a time, there lived a Guardian of Light, King Alfor, and a Guardian of Darkness, King Zarkon._

_King Alfor gave happiness and prosperity to all his peoples. But King Zarkon liked to come and steal that happiness away, playing tricks on everyone. King Alfor grew very cross with King Zarkon, so he decided to punish him…_

_…in order to teach him a lesson._

_King Alfor took everything away from King Zarkon, changing him into the shape of a hideous monster. Rage drove King Zarkon mad. He transformed his punishment into a curse and spread it to others. King Alfor was distressed at this, and banished King Zarkon to the Outside and built a vast, enormous wall to keep his curse from spreading further._

_In time, King Zarkon came to be called the Galran._

_In turn, King Alfor, became the Altean._

_And thus, the two kingdoms were established._

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Lance’s eyes slowly fluttered open. Light sifted through the thin curtains and over the wooden floor, causing the room to glow softly. He shifted his legs under the blanket and rolled his body to the side. The desk next to the bed held the blown-out candle and the fairy tale book. Blinking, groggy, he let the closed door to the room come into focus and he struggled to listen for any movement beyond. Nothing came. Perhaps Keith wasn’t awake yet? Yesterday’s events played through his thoughts and he realized suddenly just how odd the entire situation really was. He also realized exactly how much blind trust was offered to him by Keith and how much blind trust he had offered in return. Careless? Maybe.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had fully expected to wake up to a noisy kitchen. Excited screaming from his younger siblings complete with racing footsteps. His mother’s voice yelling at them to slow down or take it outside. Smells of a freshly cooked breakfast being set up on the table. The backdoor swinging open as his father came in with vegetables fresh from the garden, stomping the dirt from his boots. Usually his older sister wouldn’t be up before him, he would wake her up himself. He’d beat his fist on her door as rapidly as he could manage and yell about the wolves coming to get her. It always earned him a scolding from his mother downstairs, who would tell him to stop startling everyone but it would also result in a pillow hitting the other side of the door and a string of near-but-not-quite curses, muffled by the wood. And that was what he did it for. But now there was none of that. No one would chastise him for banging on Keith’s door in the early hours and, frankly, he wasn’t sure Keith would appreciate that in the least.

He sighed and swung his legs out from under the rumpled blanket, touching gingerly to the floor. Hands braced the edge of the bed. A minute passed. He reached his hand up to rub the crust out of his eyes, hardly changing his dead expression. All the clothes he had dropped halfway under the bed were right where he had left them and he slid them out with his toes.

Waking up early was not a new thing to Lance, he had had to do just that many mornings to help his father in the gardens. The difference this time was that he was in a foreign bed, in a foreign house, with an inhuman person one wall away, in the middle of the woods, after returning home at night to find his entire village missing. Sue him if he sleeps in a little and struggles getting out of bed.

Debating with himself, he finally decided that he could deal with the filth-covered socks from yesterday. They were better than wandering around with no socks at all, so he pulled them onto his feet. The shoes remained sitting in the corner and Lance stared at them. Is it rude to wear them indoors? Even though Keith had been wearing his and had said nothing about Lance wearing shoes, maybe Keith just didn’t deem it important to dwell on when he arrived. Keith might actually not want him to wear his shoes. But on the other hand, Lance didn’t exactly want to spend all day in the house, he would be leaving soon anyway. At that, he slid his shoes across the floor and slipped his feet into the pair.

Heaving himself off the bed was quite an effort, but he managed. As he was making his way to the door, he stopped, staring at the curtains doing little to keep the light out but blocking his view. His fingers grasped the white fabric and he pulled it back to stare outside. He winced when the morning light pierced his eyes but continued to look. The axe on the stump hadn’t moved from the day before and Lance could see then where the wood pieces lined against his bedroom wall on the other side. A smile pressed along his face as he raked his eyes slowly along the wooden scenery. What had seemed extremely dark and ominous the night before, now held a calming charm that could only be described as magical. All his movements suddenly lost their languid rhythm, easily replaced with excitement and vigour at the beginning of a new day in nature. He dropped the fabric and raced out his door, turning in the hall, nearly forgetting exactly which way was which in the strange house, before flinging the front door open. A soft breeze fluttered against his clothes and he stood, arms akimbo, gazing at the trees around him.

Lance had never gone very far into the woods ever, but judging by just how long he had travelled last night, he could guess that the woods were quite large. As much as he wanted to explore them, he also wanted to make himself familiar with his current surroundings before venturing off in search of new places. He turned back to the house and skirted along the edge, following the wall past the axe in the stump and rounding the corner to the back of the house. What he was expecting, he wasn’t sure, but it was actually a lot nicer than whatever he had been thinking. There was a large wooden table with a white tablecloth over it. Lance estimated that this outdoor table was probably bigger than the one he had eaten at the previous night, but he could also guess that this one would most likely not fit in the small kitchen regardless. A bench was right next to it. It appeared to have been added recently and it was actually a pretty piece of work. A large, swooping tree was planted beside it, offering shade to anyone who sat there. A stone fence was spread a slight distance farther from the tree and Lance could see there was a continuing path to the other side of the house. There was a rickety shed across from the house, nestled in some bushes. It was half open, but he wasn’t particularly interested in checking the contents of it. Garden equipment, he presumed.

 _The only hoes Keith is ever going to get._ He snorted at his own joke. A rustling sound came the other side of wall and Lance quickly whipped around to the fence, body tensing.

Suddenly, a purple pair of furry ears popped out from around the wall, followed by the rest of their owner; a dubious looking boy with his hair up in a quick, little ponytail. A ponytail which made Lance’s heart jump slightly. Keith was very good at doing adorable things without realizing they were adorable. “Lance?” The other called.

Luckily, Lance was just as good at ignoring things he didn’t wish to dwell on. “Mullet boy! That’s where you went!” Lance swung his arms out and began stepping around the table to approach Keith. As he got closer, he could see that Keith was wearing the same outfit as the day before, save from his shirt which was now a dark grey button up. But as Lance got closer, he noticed that Keith had on large black boots that reached up to his mid shin and in one hand Lance could see a small shovel was clasped. There was a small streak of dirt along Keith’s forehead. “What’re you doing? Playing in the dirt?” He dropped his hands back to his hips and leaned forward, teasingly. “That another Galra thing?” He smirked.

Keith’s face fell from its uncertain look into an irritated deadpan. He stared at Lance and ground his teeth together. “I’m not _playing._ I’m gardening.” Sweat glistened on his forehead and Lance felt that somehow this was odd. There was no reason a Galra wouldn’t sweat, but it still felt like an important fact to Lance. “Not everything I do is a ‘Galra thing.’” Keith lifted a hand to lazily flex his fingers in an air quotation, claws scooping downward while he turned back around the house. “And stop calling me that.”

“Right. Sorry, cat boy.” Lance straightened his back and stepped forward, following behind Keith, ignoring the other’s irritated grumbling. As the small strip of land on the far side of the building came into view, his eyes widened slightly.

Gardening did usually require a garden, but this was more than that. The fence that ran parallel to the wall rose up dramatically on this side and a large criss-crossing trellis was set in place, running from the fence to the roof. Slinking green vines curled around the beams of wood and tiny leaves fanned out along it. The sun was already partially blocked from the excessive amounts of trees but the climber vine caused the light to hit the ground in a splotchy pattern. A thin line of plants was nestled along the fence and the house underneath the trellis. Keith stepped along the narrow patch of grass separating each side and made his was to the far end. The wooden trellis ended halfway, allowing for more sun-orientated plants to grow, and Keith paused in front of a small cluster of growing stems, crouching down next to it and prodding at the dirt. Lance watched in curiosity for a moment. This garden didn’t feel nearly as open and exciting as the garden at his home. And it wasn’t anything like any of his neighbour’s gardens either. This was quiet and closed off, mirroring Keith in that regard. But it was also soft and familiar; everything about it felt like a home he had never been to before, like a secret shared between two friends at midnight with all the smells of fresh flowers and grass.

Blinking, he emerged from his thoughts to see Keith staring at him, brow furrowed. Lance wasn’t sure if that action meant anything or not though; he had known the guy less than twenty-four hours and already he could tell that that was a default facial expression for him. “Did you say something?” Lance asked, copying Keith’s furrowed brow.

The other boy sighed in response. “I asked if you were hungry.”

“Oh! Nah, I’m good. I think I’m gonna go check out the forest for a bit.” The thought that he would also very much like to stay there in the hidden garden crossed his mind but Lance felt that this little area was far too intimate for him to be there and he reminded himself of the vast, wooded ground he had yet to cover. Keith had turned back to his plants and let out a low grunt as a response, and Lance couldn’t help but to wonder if it was a Keith Thing or a Galra Thing. “Don’t wait up!” Lance called over his shoulder, treading lightly, but quickly, away from that side of the house and back the way he had come. The longer he stayed near the garden, the more intrusive he felt.

He passed the axe again and stood in front of the house. Closing his eyes and pointing an arm out, he twirled around, then he stopped and opened his eyes. “That way it is, then!” He spoke to no one in particular and kicked off into the woods, glancing at the wild flowers of various colours and bushes with berries that he wasn’t sure if he could eat or not.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

His feet crunched against the leaves littered around the grassy hillside. Eyes scraped along the treeline, searching. Nothing. He sighed and turned to another direction. As he was trailing along the ridge of the hill, he suddenly spotted what he was looking for. Stretched out on an old stump in the middle of a small clearing, lay a body. Normally, he wouldn’t have waited so long to go out on his errand run, but when _someone_ didn’t return to the house, he was forced to wait. That is, until the sun began falling into the horizon and he couldn’t wait any longer or it would be dark. He had almost assumed his guest had run away, but nope. There he was, sprawled out in the sun, asleep.

 _And he calls me the cat._ He thought, approaching the sleeping boy quietly. As he was stepping, the boy suddenly bent his back to fold around the stump, holding his hands to the forest floor behind his head for a moment before dropping the position and curling up into a relaxed sit. A yawn escaped his mouth and he extended an arm upwards. The boy hadn’t yet noticed him since he was faced away but when a shadow blanketed across the boy, he turned to investigate the source of it.

“Oh, Keith.” He blinked slowly up at the man blocking the sun and a small grin formed along his face. “How long have you been watching me sleep? I know I’m beautiful, but that’s a little weird, dude, I gotta admit. Staring is rude!”

Keith was beginning to recognize that the boy’s personality was majorly comprised of teasing jokes and extroverted overconfidence. He was aware that the goal was to get a rise out of him but knowing this didn’t stop it from working. “That’s why you stare at my ears so much, isn’t it, Lance?” Keith deadpanned, with a hint of a joshing inflection.

Lance’s cheeks tinted and his eyes went wide, quickly jumping from the two appendages atop Keith’s head and staring pointedly into his eyes. He sputtered, struggling to come back with a witty retort, mind not entirely awake or alert yet and thrown further off balance by being caught.

“Or is that just an Altean thing?” Keith tilted his head to the side and smirked.

Impressively, Lance’s face burned with a darker shade of red and he scrunched his face up in a disgruntled expression. Keith couldn’t help but think that the blush looked very nice painted over Lance’s bronze skin. “I bet you think you’re funny.” His voice lowered in an attempt to be threatening but the heat on his cheeks and his ruffled, unkempt hair undermined it.

Keith stifled a snicker. Lance was about to comment on the choked down laugh from the other boy, raising a finger and opening his mouth in preparation, before his stomach interrupted anything he may have been about to say, emitting a low grumble. They both stared at each other in silence. Keith’s ears twitched, straightening toward the sound and he pretended not to notice Lance’s eyes shift up to watch the action. He reached behind his arm where a basket hung, hidden by the drooping sleeve of his long coat, and pulled a washed carrot out, pointing it toward Lance. “Eat.” Keith commanded. Keith could guess that Lance was probably hungry by then since he hadn’t eaten anything before leaving the house, and unless he had learned to hunt in the last couple hours, Keith was pretty sure the boy could use some food, so he had brought some with him. Lance gripped the carrot and yanked it out of Keith’s hand before obnoxiously biting into it and snapping a piece off between his teeth, never breaking his challenging eye contact with Keith.

The shorter boy watched him for a moment before turning and retreating down the hill. He could hear Lance stand up behind him and follow, the sounds of chewing muffling their feet. “Isn’t the house the other way?” Lance’s voice floated toward him and he glanced over his shoulder to see Lance pointing his carrot across the hill in the other direction, eyebrow raised at Keith.

“Yup.” Keith agreed easily, continuing his decided path. “We’re going back to the village. Believe it or not, I was actually doing something last night before you interrupted me.”

“Whatever, mullet.” He grumbled through a mouthful. Lance then hurried to walk next to him, a slight distance between them to avoid accidental touching. His eyes were watching Keith, expression revealing nothing, as he ate his carrot. In a much less archaic manner, Keith noted. “What were you doing?”

Keith returned his gaze to the path ahead. “Collecting any good food I can find. And looking for materials.”

“You’re looting the houses.” It wasn’t a question. Lance’s voice lacked in any of its usual joking tone. In fact, it lacked any tone at all. It reminded Keith of the seriousness Lance had used the previous night when he talked about his family and Keith had a sinking feeling that this was related. Still, somehow, it bothered him that Lance called it looting, even if that was what he was doing, essentially. But that word made it sound wrong.

“If I don’t take it, it’ll go to waste.” His voice was harder than he had intended.

Lance stared at the carrot in his hand and muttered a response. “I guess…”

Although slightly irritated, it still clenched Keith’s heart to hear him sounding so conflicted and sad. He could relate to the feeling of losing a family member more than he cared to admit. “You’ll see your family again.” He didn't mean for it to sound so much like a threat but Lance turned to offer him a soft, genuine smile that dripped with sincere gratitude anyways and Keith’s heart clenched again. Although, he wasn’t sure if it was because of the smile itself, or if it was the ease at which the lie rolled off his tongue. The guilt choked his throat and he quickly forced a smile in return before facing back to the direction of the village.

The rest of the walk there was filled with a steady increase in pointless observations about the forest and everything Lance had seen. Slowly, Keith began to relax, and he could tell that Lance’s usual jovial nature had returned to him as well, though not fully.

Rooftops of abandoned buildings came into view and the pair meandered past the edge of the forest and through the front gate to the village, Keith holding the gate door open for Lance, avoiding coming too close to him. The carrot had been finished by that point and its spot in Lance’s hand had been replaced by a couple of particularly nice daisies that they had passed on their way there. One daisy lay in the basket on Keith’s arm, given to him by Lance when he had made the mistake to ask about the flowers.

 

_“Why do you need so many daisies? Can’t you leave any wildlife alone?”_

_“Y’know who needs flowers most of all? That’s right. Sticks in the mud.”_

 

The cobblestone echoed their footsteps as they moved. It almost felt unsettling to be so alone in a place that was normally bustling with life, but after the first day or so, Keith had gotten used to it. At first, he had tried to gather up as much food as he could before it all spoiled, but the endeavour was far too ambitious for such an enormous village. He was just one man after all, and his tiny cottage wasn’t nearly large enough to store that much food anyway. This fact became clear early on, and he decided to only take what he knew would go bad fast and to leave the other things for a later trip when the meats and dairy products could no longer be saved. It had been more than a week at this point, and Keith had long since moved onto other foods which were sure to last longer, or that were stored properly so as to be good for an extended period of time.

He stared out at the small manmade river to his left, lined with old bricks. It was much more comforting in the early evening when he could actually see his surroundings and didn’t need a lantern. The lantern had been brought with him, of course. He didn’t plan to be there too late like last time, but it was better to be prepared. It was clipped to his belt, under his coat, along with his sword.

Lance was staring out at the many rows of houses, sadness lingering in his eyes. It hurt something in Keith to see him with an expression like that. It hurt even more though, knowing he could do nothing about it. Turning away, he headed for one of the farther houses that he was sure he hadn’t inspected yet and called over his shoulder. “You don’t have to follow me around, I won’t be long. Go make friends with the fishes, or something.” He threw his hand up in a half wave, not turning. Vaguely, he knew that he was purposely avoiding Lance and the problem he had created, but he could just as easily push the thoughts away and convince himself that Lance would much rather reminisce alone and that that was why Keith was now hurrying toward the first house he had seen.

A chuckle rang out behind him. “I’m not the one here who would do that.”

Keith didn’t turn around, kept walking, but his shoulders raised, eyebrows dipped lower, and his mouth formed a thin line. _Don’t look back. Don’t indulge him_.

“Here, kitty, kitty!”

All resolve left him instantly and he whipped around to glare at Lance. His face felt suddenly hot and he was sure that, had Lance not been standing a few houses away, the light pink tint of his cheeks would be visible, even through the purple. “Shut up!” His hands formed fists and he ignored the claws poking his skin.

Lance just laughed again. “Yeah, yeah. Have fun with your village pillage. Hasta la later, Keith!” A smile was stretched along his face and his eyes were half closed as he turned down the other path and wandered, hands in his pockets lazily. Keith couldn’t help but release his hands and let them relax again at the expression because Lance just looked so… carefree. Not sad. That’s the important thing was that he was _not sad._ Jokes seemed to be Lance’s outlet for his stress. Keith nodded to himself and continued back to the house he had originally been targeting. If it kept Lance’s mind off his family, even if only for a little while, Keith was alright with it. Even if he didn’t appreciate the… _catcalling…_

 _His humour is rubbing off on me and it’s only been a day._ Keith sped up, as though increasing his pace would somehow distance him from the play on words.

 

There was nothing of interest in the first house and the following house had very little as well. He found some supplies in a few of the houses and, when he was lucky, some food that had yet to rot. The ninth house that Keith entered had some wrapped-up bread that had not been overtaken by mold and he placed it gently in his basket. As he was about to turn to leave, he noticed a pile of papers on the table right next to kitchen counters that he had been rooting around in. The mission was to collect food and move out quickly, so he hadn’t noticed the papers when he had entered the house, but now that he actually looked at them, he became aware that some were scribbled notes regarding the Galra curse and others had sketches of Galrans. Keith hesitantly picked up one of the drawings and stared at it, frown deepening. He was about to throw the papers down and leave, when he detected a small book underneath a stack. After retrieving it, he ran his hand along the leather covering. _King Zarkon; What I Know;_ it read. This instantly interested Keith and he began leafing through the pages, skimming the different entries. One entry in particular caught his eye, but before he could begin reading it in too much detail, the door to the house was pushed open and he quickly snapped the book shut and shoved it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Keith? Are you in this one?” Keith wandered around the corner from the kitchen and stared at Lance in the doorway. “Oh, you are. You have no idea how many houses I checked. Anyway, what are you doing?” He let the door close behind him and stepped closer to Keith, who tried to pretend he had not just taken a book relating to his curse.

“What? No– No I was just… Nothing.” It made Keith want to cringe, but he held it back, as if it would make a difference in the believability of his answer.

Lance smirked and tilted his head down. “Really? Because you look like the cat who swallowed the canary.” His smirk grew.

Eyebrows furrowed again and Keith’s jaw jutted out slightly. They both stared at each other for a moment in silence. Near silence, anyway, as Lance was doing his best to stifle a laugh that threatened to breech his lips, and failing.

“Fuck you.” Keith managed to say finally, sounding almost confused. With trying to cover up his finding of the book, he had not been ready for Lance to throw another cat joke at him.

Even at the clear insult, Lance’s smirk only grew. “Wow, talk about the cat in gloves catching no mice.” Raising his hand, he pointed to Keith’s gloves, and Keith spread his hand to stare down at the black leather wrapping his hand. He would have responded with something equally jesting, had he not been so distracted as his mind tried to dismantle the many layers of what Lance had just said, mouth opened slightly.

“Hmm? You alright, Keithy? Cat got your tongue?” How big could Lance’s smirk get?

Keith snapped out of his confused state and stared hard at Lance, letting his hand drop into a loose fist at his side. “Did you spend all your time, since I left you, just wandering around the village and thinking of cat idioms?” His eyebrow raised in agitation.

“You caught me!” Lance threw his hands up. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag!” He was full on snickering at this point, the fucker.

“I actually hate you.” Keith’s jaw clenched and not for the first time, he considered flinging Lance into the ravine.

Lance, however, seemed to be having the time of his life and no matter what Keith said, there was a retort ready. A cat related retort. “I’m wounded! There’s really no need for such catty remarks, Keith.” He flexed his wrist and placed a delicate palm over his chest, above his heart.

Keith smiled. It was not friendly. It was hard and forced but also dripping with malicious intent. “Talking to you. You know what it’s like? It’s like–”

“Don’t say it.” Lance’s eyes had widened and he was no longer posing dramatically.

“–herding cats.” Keith hissed, narrowing his eyes.

“Ah!” Lance jerked his chest back, clutching at his heart again, this time as though he had just been shot. His head was turned to the side and he let his eyes close. “You said it.” The whisper dripped with pretend emotion. “How dare you. You _sourpuss._ ” As he reached the last word, he flicked an eye open to glance at Keith’s reaction as he got in the last one-liner.

Keith’s reaction, of course, was more furrowed eyebrows and another pointed glare. He could feel a genuine smile threatening his face but he did he best not to let it show. “Are you ready to go now?” Attempting to end the conversation quickly, he ignored what Lance called him in favour of a different topic entirely. There was no way of knowing how many cat puns Lance had up his sleeve. Something told Keith that he really didn’t want to test it.

“You betcha! I’ll spare you the jokes… For now…” Keith was positive the threat wasn’t empty and he shivered at the foreboding smile Lance threw him.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Making their way back toward the gate, Lance couldn’t help but notice that the sky was darkening. It wasn’t dark enough to need a lantern but the sun had dropped from the sky dramatically. Night was coming on and he was glad they were heading back to the house. Not that the darkness scared him. Because it didn’t.

It didn’t.

Lance stared at the river by the front gate in an attempt to distract himself from the approaching night, still following Keith, who was on his left. He didn’t seem to be bothered by the decreasing visibility when Lance had peeked over at him. That made sense, Lance supposed, what would be dumb enough to threaten the cursed man with the sword.

A splotch of white caught his eye across the river and he turned to squint into the woods on the other side. Some underbrush was covering and blocking parts of it, but Lance could clearly see a pile of white cloth amongst the trees. Stopping in his tracks, he stared harder before inching as close to the water’s edge as he dared, to get a closer look. It almost looked like the cloth concealed something of substantial mass underneath.

Keith’s footsteps stopped too and Lance took it as an invitation to speak. “What’re those sheets over there?” He flung his hand out at said sheets and turned back to watch Keith’s eyes follow the motion with a similar squint before widening as his line of sight connected.

“Nothing.” The response was far too fast.

Lance stared dubiously at Keith. “You sure?” It was less of a question and more of a challenge. He was getting better at reading Keith, he prided himself in it, but that desperate, conversation-ending ‘nothing’ was just so _not Keith._ It reminded him of when they had first met and Lance had, unaware of the consequence, tried to initiate physical contact with the other boy. Those sheets were definitely not ‘nothing’. They were something.

“Yeah. It’s just, uh. It’s mine. I put those there. They’re just some bed sheets that I, uh, didn’t need… anymore…” If that wasn’t the most obvious lie Lance had ever heard. His younger siblings could lie better than that. Lance narrowed his eyes slightly and let one eyebrow raise up his forehead, signaling to Keith that his answer was absolute bullshit and no one would ever believe that. Keith stared back. “Look, just leave it.” His voice dropped an octave, dangerous and equally challenging. With that, Keith turned on his heels. “We need to make dinner before it gets too late.” All hesitation had left him and Lance could tell that there was no room for discussion. It didn’t mean he was happy about secrets being kept from him, but for now, he would leave it. He gave one last glance over at the mass of cloth, face morphed into a look of distrust, before stalking off behind Keith, who was already exiting the town gate.

The walk back was silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith is just pussyfooting around any sort of concrete answer and stealing things from people's houses, like some kind of cat burglar, isn't he? But no one is living there now and you know what they say; when the cat's away, the mice will play!
> 
> (yes, this is just me unloading all the cat idioms that didn't make it into the story.)


	4. Obliviousness, Thy Name Is Keith

“You’re doing it wrong.” Keith leaned as close to Lance as he felt comfortable with – which was a foot and a half away, at most – and watched as the other boy sliced a piece of cold meat with a kitchen knife.

“Excuse me, but I’m in charge of dinner, and it’s going to be infinitely better than last night’s.” Lance dropped his hand from where it hovered over the food and placed his fist on his jutted-out hip, carefully avoiding stabbing himself. He glared at Keith, but his tone was light.

“Well, _sorry_ for not making a five-course meal upon your arrival.” Obvious sarcasm dripped from his voice. Taking the hint that Lance didn’t want him breathing down his neck, he stepped back and yanked a chair away from the table, dropping himself into it and crossing his arms dejectedly. He pretended not to notice when Lance’s eyes quickly followed the motion of his ears flattening against his hair. The fire crackled across the room and he let his eyes fix on that.

Lance smirked and tilted his head. “No need to apologize, Mullet. Just don’t make that mistake again.” Air pushed out of his nose in a half snort as he blatantly ignored Keith’s tone and turned back to the cutting board.

“You’re really pushing it. This is still my kitchen, _which,_ I’m letting you use.” Keith narrowed his eyes, snarling. It wasn’t seen, though, as Lance was focused on the knife in his hand as it sliced the meat. His tongue slowly stuck out from the side of his mouth and Keith stared at the move.

“Uh-huh, yeah. What’re you growing in that garden back there, anyway? Sardonic misery?” He paused his hands and stared at the far wall in an exaggerated look of deep thought, tapping the dull side of the knife to his chin.

“Shut up. We both know I’m too nice to you.”

“We do? Where? Have you ever been nice?” Lance turned to stare at him, eyes comically wide to match his jovial sarcasm.

Keith nodded. “Yeah, once, four years ago. Worst moment of my life.” He stared dramatically off into the distance. His deadpan was so good that one might think he was being serious.

A laugh rang out from Lance, clear and genuine, and Keith almost smiled at the sound alone. “Okay smartass, let’s quickly turn this into a lesson on ‘friend making’ because you clearly need it.”

He cringed. “If it means more people like you, then I’m gonna have to pass.”

Scoffing, Lance raised a hand to his heart, leaving the knife on the counter this time. He gasped dramatically in mock offence. “I’m a delight, and you know it.”

“Debatable.”

The hand at his chest moved out in front of him, wagging at Keith. Eyes closed lightly. “You can brood all you want, but I see through it.” One eye cracked open and a smug smile spread. “You love having me around.”

Head tilted up, Keith pouted. “Say whatever you gotta say to make yourself feel better.” He spread his arms out beside him to add emphasis to his next words. “After dropping half our bread into the fire!” Pieces of bread lay in the fireplace atop a log of wood, slowly burning and melting. Part of the only food they had managed to collect from the village trip and it was now becoming a pile of ash. Great. Keith stared at Lance’s long, delicate fingers, scowling. No matter how nice the appendages were, they still fucked up.

Lance had turned back to the meat and quickly began cutting, face tinting pink. “Pfft! I was just making sure you were paying attention.”

The chance of Lance slicing a finger off increased dramatically and Keith shifted uncomfortably in his seat, knowing that if Lance did hurt himself, he would have to patch it up alone. He schooled his expression and focused back on the other man’s response. “That was a piss-poor excuse.”

“I mean, it was worth a shot, wasn’t it?” The heat in his face cooled down but he didn’t turn away from his task.

“You don’t want me to answer that question.” Keith’s eyebrows lowered as he voiced his caution.

Another laugh. “You’re right, I don’t! It was rhetorical. I don’t need any of your negativity.” He paused, suddenly looking in thought. “Your neg-cat-tivity.”

Keith groaned and turned his face to the side. “Oh no. Oh, why? That was really bad. It was so forced.”

By this time, Lance had finished slicing and was carrying the cutting board to the tiny pot above the fire. He scraped the bite-sized pieces off the wood with the knife he had been using and stared over at Keith once all the food had been added to the pot. “That’s why you’re smiling, right, Keith?” He smirked.

Being so focused on Lance, he hadn’t even noticed when his face had cracked a small grin. It snapped back to his trademark near-frown as soon as he became aware of the change, but the damage had been done. “I’m not smiling.” He folded his arms further into himself and leaned back against the chair, nonchalantly. Or as nonchalantly as he could manage.

Lance scoffed again and lowered his voice. “Like I didn’t totally just see it.” He straightened up and brought the board back to the counter, setting it down and reaching for the vegetables Keith had pulled from his tiny garden.

Keith shot him a death glare. “You saw nothing.”

“Gotta keep your brooding, emo image up, huh?” Lance responded in a serious tone, scrunching his face in mock understanding.

“I’m not emo. Shut up.” Keith’s expression quickly changed to another pout.

“Yeah, those fingerless gloves definitely aren’t the edgiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He laughed to himself while dicing a tomato. Keith watched him carefully again. It was a mystery if his concern was from the fact Lance had been pretty careless in his cutting of the meat, or if it was because he wasn’t conditioned to having other people in his kitchen, using his supplies to cook his food. It all felt very foreign to Keith but it wasn’t entirely bad. He was reminded of when his brother had lived with him and would cook dinner, but he swiftly shoved the thought away, no desire to dwell.

“Fuck you. Regular gloves don’t fit my claws.” He inspected his gloves again, for the second time that day. His short, black claws extended from his fingers. Regular gloves, with full fingers, would have wound up as fingerless anyway, fabric ending up pierced and torn. Cutting the ends off had just been easier. He turned his hand over, examining his nails. _All part of being a Galran, huh._

A thought had occurred to Keith when he had been searching the woods for Lance, and he was suddenly reminded of it. Before he could think too hard about his next words, they were already leaving his mouth. “But if you want edgy, I’ll show you edgy.” He looked back up at Lance, who had finished cutting the tomato.

“That a threat or a promise?” Lance glanced at him from the corner of his eyes and half-smiled, probably assuming Keith was delivering empty threats again.

Before Lance could get in another jab about his apparent edginess. “Both. Sword training tomorrow. Don’t sleep in again.” His clawed finger pointed at Lance and he raised his eyebrows.

As he realized what Keith had said, he threw the knife down, causing Keith to wince, and whipped around to look at the Galran, eyes wide and all traces of mock gone. “Wait, what? For real?”

Keith shrugged, mostly focused on the fact that the knife was safely out of Lance’s hand. “You should know how to defend yourself if you’re going to keep sleeping around.”

There was a long silence. Keith stared at Lance, waiting for a response, but Lance stood still. His face dropped from one of excitement, to one of awkward embarrassment and pain. A deep red overtook his face and Keith watched it with confused interest. What was wrong? Had Keith unknowingly said or done something?

“… If I’m what…?” The boy squeaked out after a moment, as if the action was a struggle.

Keith narrowed his eyebrows, his confusion furthered by the words. “Sleeping. In the forest. Like you did on the stump today.” He said slowly. _Seriously, what am I missing?_

Lance’s shoulders visibly dropped and he let out a small breath. The blush still curtained his face and he spoke in an awkwardly laughing voice. “We need to have a talk about phrasing, Keith.” His eyes were still wide.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry, we’ll work on it…” Lance turned to hurry over to the fireplace, poking at the meat in the pot and pointedly not looking in Keith’s general direction. It was a distraction, Keith was sure, but he decided that whatever it was probably wasn’t important and he let it go, turning to stare at the far wall. Had other people always been such annoying mysteries or had Keith just gotten lucky?

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Dinner came and went, and Keith was surprised and impressed to learn that Lance could, in fact, cook quite well. Sure, he needed a pointer here or there on what exactly this ‘weird leafy thing’ was or how that ‘creepy looking root’ should be implemented, but the end result was a meal made entirely by Lance comprised of deer meat, what was left of the bread, and a kind-of salad. It had leaves and tomatoes, which, according to Lance, constituted a salad. Keith disagreed, but he ate it nonetheless. All in all, Keith enjoyed it. Not that he would ever admit that to Lance though. If he was going to call Keith an amateur cook and act superior, then Keith wasn’t about to let him win. Win what? Keith wasn’t sure, but he certainly wasn’t going to lose; bet on that. Another thing that Keith would never confess was that he did appreciate someone else making food for him. And he had missed having someone to talk to. It all felt very warm and domestic. Or maybe he was just desperate for Altean interaction. It had been awhile...

Lance had been wrapping up a story about his little brother getting stuck in a tree, when he suddenly interrupted himself. “Hey, so, when are you going to take me to the new village?”

Keith’s fork stopped from where it had been absently collecting all the crumbs in his plate into a tiny pile at the centre. He stared at the pile a moment longer before glancing up to meet Lance’s eyes. Mistake number one. Hope and excitement were painted across his easy smile and his staring eyes. Keith’s heartrate picked up. He couldn’t tell if it was the expression itself or the realization that he was going to have to say something, and fast.

He set the fork on the table carefully, cleared his throat, and attempted the first excuse he could think of. Now, Keith wasn’t very good at lying. Actually, he was terrible, and he knew this. Spending so much time alone didn’t allow him the proper social skills to understand how to properly fib his way out of something. Small, quick lies that he didn’t have to think about, those weren’t an issue. It was when he had to back up lies with more lies. So, he did the next best thing. Using truths to cushion his lie.

“Well, it’s pretty far away,” Not a lie; his family _was_ far away… “so we’re going to need to collect enough supplies for a long journey.” Not a lie; long journeys required prepping. “You should learn how to defend yourself, in case we run into other Galra. They’re not all nice…” Not lies; some Galra weren’t nice and would fight. “I’d teach you hand-to-hand, but that’s sort of what we’re trying to avoid.” Look at that, more truths. And he didn’t have to give a definitive answer. Keith waited with baited breath to see if Lance had been pleased with his response.

“Oh, yeah, yeah! I guess we can’t just start walking into the woods without, like, food and stuff.” Lance nodded, half smiling at his eagerness. Keith resisted the urge to release all his breath at once and instead smoothly picked his plate up from the table and placed it on Lance’s. He set both sets of utensils and empty cups on the stack and lifted it, taking it over to the sink. It was easier not to face Lance’s care-free expression when he was literally not facing him. So, he bent toward the sink and busied himself with cleaning the tableware. There was no way to be sure if Lance was watching his back unless he turned around, but the feeling of eyes on him was enough that he could assume.

“You alright?” Lance asked, clearly concerned.

“I’m fine. I’m just thinking.” Silence passed between them. It was becoming suffocating to Keith. He was sure that Lance probably didn’t feel it too, but for every second Keith stood at the sink, glaring down at the dishes, the guilt and panic ate at him more.

_I can’t tell him. But I can’t keep putting it off either, he’s going to notice. He can’t just live the rest of his life with me while I tell him we need to gather supplies, that’s fucking ridiculous. But he needs to stay here… He doesn’t want to, but I don’t want him getting cursed, or worse, killed. He deserves a life. And if I just told him the truth…? How would he react? He’d probably hate me. Not that I can blame him…_

“Do you need me to leave you clothes for tomorrow?” His voice sounded distant, as though he was externally on autopilot, busy lost in thought.

“Oh, ah, yeah. If you don’t mind.” Keith nodded vaguely at the answer, his thoughts spiralling out of control. He needed to find a way to fix this, or to at least find something. Anything.

Quickly, and without looking to Lance, he dried his hands on the towel hanging off the rack and hurried back into the hall to retrieve the clothes, taking strides that were unnaturally long. His room was at the complete opposite end of the house to the kitchen. He reached the end of the hall and dug his hand into the hem of his collar, sliding a small chain out. It unclipped and he used the key dangling off of it to release the lock that kept the door’s contents secret from anyone other than Keith. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind him.

Since the place was only one storey, he couldn’t hide the room very well, although he wanted to. The more out of the way it was, the more comfortable he felt. Reason being, it really wasn’t his bedroom. He slept there and he kept his clothes there, but he had never considered it a bedroom. It wasn’t there for the purpose a bedroom was, it was more of a study. A lab, if he was being generous.

The most bedroom-like part of the room was the small couch on the far end of the room, a white blanket draped over the top of it. A small dresser was next to the couch, it was slightly shorter than Keith and was made out of old, worn wood. The majority of the room was taken up by storage units. Two drawers were along the wall adjacent to the door, sandwiching a rickety desk between them. The wall opposite to that was entirely bookshelves, and a small table was sat in the middle of the room. Very few parts of the walls were visible, nearly entirely covered in pinned up papers, drawings, maps, and charts. The only window in the room was covered by a wooden board that held a giant mural of a cave with blue markings which Keith had made himself. No light entered the room and Keith grabbed a lantern he had kept hanging on a hook next to the door and lit it. Open books, animal skulls, ink bottles, plants and small trees, empty glasses, and loose papers were strewn around the room on the table and the desk. Each bookshelf was crammed full of books and more folders of his own written papers. It was messy and cluttered, a stark contrast against the minimalistic feeling of the rest of his house, but he saw nothing wrong with it, and thus, made no effort to clean it.

He shuffled past his desk and the table, moving toward the dresser. It was mostly empty of clothes, not because Keith didn’t own a lot of clothes, but because it was so big. He opened the top drawer, all it held were socks and a couple coins. All of the money Keith had was stored in there although he didn’t ever touch it. He hadn’t been to the village at all until the residents of the village had moved away a week before, although he had skirted the outside edge of the woods which bordered it many times. Before then, he would just hunt for his food and create his own supplies. Keith stared at the money for a moment before grabbing a pair of folded socks and closing the drawer. He rooted around until he found some more loose pants and a baggy shirt. He would have offered Lance a collared shirt and vest with dress pants just as he wore, but he wasn’t sure they would be Lance’s size or preferred style; baggy outfits were the way to go. Collecting the clothes in one hand and lantern handle in the other hand, he used his back to press the drawer closed and made his way back out, depositing the still-lit lantern on the table before exiting. He closed the door behind himself but didn’t bother to lock it since he would return in a moment.

Lance was no longer in the kitchen, instead he was in his room, door left open. Out of curtesy, he knocked on the door, but let himself in without waiting for confirmation to enter. Lance turned toward him from where he stood at the bookshelf. “Clothes.” Keith said simply. He stepped into the room and wandered to the desk, placing the folded clothes on it.

“Thanks.” Lance smiled lightly.

They both stood there for a moment. Did he leave now? Or was Lance going to say anything else? It didn’t seem like that. Keith awkwardly rubbed his palms on his pants legs and began backing up. “Well then… Goodnight.” He nodded, spun around and exited the room, hurrying down the hall, not stopping to hear if Lance said it back. Once at his room, he barreled through the door and snatched the lantern from its spot on the table. The journal he had discovered earlier in the village was set on the one of the storage units where he had left it once the pair had arrived. He grabbed that too and carefully made his way back to the hallway. This time, he did lock the door before dropping the key back into his shirt.

He stood at the end of the hall, staring at the door to Lance’s room. His ears twitched. Nothing. No noise. He pushed a foot across the hardwood floor, staring cautiously at the door again. All he needed to do was get out the front door without Lance hearing anything. He supposed he could have waited a while until Lance went to sleep but he didn’t want to be out for too long. Normally, he had no problem spending an entire night in the woods, but with Lance there, he didn’t want to leave him in the house alone for longer than necessary. It was more of a peace of mind kind of thing, he reasoned. Keith swiftly moved down the hall, making minimal sounds. As he reached the end, he pulled his sword off the rack as careful as he could manage and clipped it to his waist. He removed the long, black coat from the hook and slipped into it. The door, he knew, was quite squeaky. He picked the small front door key off the tiny nail in the wall and slowly opened the door. And sure enough, it squeaked as he pulled it. Keith froze and threw a glance back at Lance’s door. A moment of silence passed. Maybe Lance fell asleep quickly? Unlikely. Keith released a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding and moved to open the door the rest of the way.

Suddenly, the door behind him clicked and opened. “Keith?” A hesitant voice asked.

Keith whirled around, nearly tumbling backwards into the front door but catching himself before he could fall. “Lance. Hey.” What was he supposed to say? He could try to convince Lance that he was just having a dream but he knew that was idiotic and would never work. Bolting out the door and into the night probably wouldn’t be the best option either. He really didn’t want to deal with Lance’s questioning right now.

“What’re you doing?” Lance had one hand clutching the door and the other wrapped around the doorframe. His head poked out of the opening.

“Nothing. Go back to bed.” His voice was harsher than he had intended it to be.

“What? What the fuck, Keith! Where are you going?” He sounded confused, angry, and slightly panicked. Keith could suppose that yeah, it was an oddly suspicious thing he was doing.

“Out. I’ll be back.” He inched toward the dark blanket of night that awaited him outside the door. “Don’t worry about it, okay? You need to rest for training tomorrow.” Lance stared at him, partially in disbelief and partially in mistrust. The stare made Keith’s heart clench as he was reminded once again of everything he was keeping from Lance. This was just another thing to add to the list. “I’ll be back.” He repeated softly. Before Lance could respond, he turned and stepped outside, closing the door and locking it behind him. His lantern jangled in his hand as he stalked into the woods.

He tried his hardest to push away his thoughts of Lance but everything he thought of trailed back to him eventually. Thoughts of Lance inevitably led to feelings of guilt and a sense of helplessness. Keith hated feeling helpless. He hated not knowing what to do, he hated not being able to find a way out of something, and most of all, he hated not being able to save the ones he cared about. He couldn’t save his parents, he couldn’t save his brother, and he couldn’t save Lance.

His pace quickened. The darkness didn’t scare him, it never had. He found comfort in it, as if he was hiding but he was right in plain sight. It was also when anyone who might be in the area would pack up and leave, so he had the night to himself. No one usually came out in general, but certainly not at night.

Except Lance, that idiot.

And once again his thoughts circled.

Procrastinating the truth wasn’t going to help Lance. Telling the truth wasn’t going to help Lance. Letting him find the truth wasn’t going to help Lance. The only loophole Keith could think of was to change the truth. But if he could change the truth, he wouldn’t be a cursed monster alone in the woods. It didn’t stop his efforts though.

Although the village was on the larger side, it had somehow escaped any and all word of the happenings in the Royal Kingdom, which wasn’t too far away from Keith’s cottage. The Royal Kingdom of Altea. The home of the King. The ruling city of the area. The place to be. That’s what the reputation around it was. But the reality was much different. Altea was a city of delusion, if you asked Keith anyway. Keith resented Altea.

Keith shuffled through the gate to the abandoned village and stared out over the river. It was too dark now to see anything on the other side, but he knew it would be there. His shoes clacked and echoed on the cobblestone and he held his lantern up in front of him. Skirting along the river’s edge until he found the bridge leading across, he turned and made his way over. This path would lead to the entrance of Altea if you were to follow it far enough, but that was not Keith’s destination. He veered off the dirt trail and stomped into the underbrush. His eyes raked the ground ahead of him and his lantern swung out to illuminate his way.

Suddenly, he stopped short. Right where it had been, the heap of white cloth. Keith grimaced and crinkled his nose. It smelled of dried blood. He crouched down next to the pile and used a single claw to flip back a piece of the fabric, revealing what had been underneath. A pale arm lay sprawled along the dirt. It was coated in a thin layer of blood and the body it was attached to continued on farther into the pile where Keith had not touched. “Fuck…” He muttered. It was as he had suspected earlier with Lance. Thankfully, Lance had let the topic drop; he didn’t need to see this. “Did a Galran get into the kingdom?” He mused aloud. Peeling the blanket back slightly more, he exposed part of what he assumed was a hip. From the position and the colouring, he could guess this was a different person from the arm. He did a once over of the cloth. Just guessing, he would say there were about four bodies underneath. His throat closed slightly and he dropped the fabric as if burned. “No. A witch hunt.” He said to himself. Entirely disgusted, he quickly rose to his feet and backed away from the bodies, using his hand to cover his nose. It did nothing to disguise the smell.

Altea was a _sick_ city of delusion.

After the outbreak of the Galra curse, the nearby villages had been evacuated to stop the spread. Shortly after, the Royal Altean Knights were sent. Keith could remember clearly the mangled purple Galran body he had happened across the first time. Barely recognizable as a person. Riddled with arrows, piercing their chest and legs. Slashes through their torso. A sword, Keith could distinguish the markings. This wasn’t a new thing. It had happened many months before the village needed to be evacuated. The curse was not recent, just not widely known. Although he knew that Altea had a way with covering things up, he didn’t expect no one to know about the curse. Maybe that was just Lance though?

It was when Keith had found the corpse of a person who was dropped off from the kingdom in a white sheet that he really started to realize what was going on. How do you stop a virus? You eliminate those who have it. This person was halfway through their transformation. Ears stuck out on top of their head, blotches of purple in the beginning stages, taking hold of their skin, some covered by splatters of red. Out of morbid curiosity, Keith had lifted a single eyelid on the body and had immediately regretted it. The majority of it was a sickly yellow while their iris was torn and in the process of being split and destroyed. It was similar to how cotton balls pulled apart, threads clinging onto each other while being forced to disconnect. Their pupil was still there, but a yellow liquid bubbled up within it. The image haunted Keith more than he wanted to admit and you could search his entire cottage for a mirror and never find one. He had shattered them and disposed of the remains around the fifth time he stared into his reflection and could only see those dead, half-transformed eyes staring back at him.

It became harder to see the Galra corpses after he had become a Galran himself. That wasn’t an intentional development. But accidents happen. Lost boys in the woods who look too deeply into hidden secrets trip up eventually and those hidden secrets catch up. Keith learned that the hard way. Now instead of the Galra being a threat, it was the Alteans.

The Galra being eliminated was one thing. But regular Alteans? That was different somehow. It was worse. Not because the Galra were somehow worth less than Alteans. But because it meant that the kingdom was killing people who were only suspected of being Galran. He had stared into the dead face of an Altean girl, only a little bit younger than him, he presumed. Not a speck of purple had grazed her skin but quite a bit of red did and Keith had to restrain himself from throwing up. Keith could remember when his favourite colour was red.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, it had only been a little while ago when he had found an entire stack of bodies. He had approached the lump of fabric, knowing what he would find, but unprepared for the new increased number. It was three people on that occasion. And again, none had any signs of the Galra curse. Realization had flooded him in that moment. Altea was so consumed by their own fear of the curse that they would kill anyone. Keith knew first hand – from observing his own transformation in the two days it had taken place – that it started with splattered purple along the hands which would then slowly crawl its way up the arms, infecting the shoulders and back next. It would break out along the legs and spread from there and would bloom on the face. The claws came shortly after, not nearly as painful as he would have assumed they’d be. The ears would begin protruding from the head. It was painful and non-stop. He hadn’t been entirely focused on his Altean ears as he had been busy writhing in pain as the new structuring of his skull took place, but he was pretty sure they had stretched and merged, altering his anatomy, melding into the rest of his purple skin. His hearing had been enhanced as well. That would have been a cool feature if the first thing he had heard wasn’t his own agonized screams. The eyes were the last to be affected and Keith would have documented that experience, had he not been passed out from the prolonged pain of the ears.

Those three people didn’t have the slightest mark on their hands, once Keith had worked himself up enough to angrily check. Not a speck. Altea was so desperate to rid the kingdom of Galra, that they were willing to take the lives of people for even the most arbitrary reasons. And although he knew it wasn’t the townsfolk, or even the knights – all blame went to the King – it changed nothing.

Keith loathed Altea.

The body pile didn’t happen again until that night and Keith stared at the fabric of the cloth overtop. Knowing what to expect didn’t change the gruesome display. He grimaced and marched away from the area, holding his lantern out ahead of him.

Altean’s hatred toward the Galra was what caused the village to evacuate too. People’s fear was reaching a maximum and it only stood to reason that if they brought the village people into a safer place, then there were less people for the Galra to infect.

The only issue was that there was no new village. Only a very old one. A very old one called Altea.

Lance’s village had been moved to Altea.

It was unfortunate that Lance had been away at the time and had missed the move, but it was too late now. He would never be able to rejoin with his family. If they were still alive. Keith couldn’t be sure what Altea was doing with the new village people since his only connections were the bodies left in the woods and the troops of knights that patrolled the area every once in a blue moon. But he knew one thing. People who tried to approach the kingdom without the King’s approval were shot dead on the spot. And with the ever-increasing body count, Lance would be killed before he could even knock on the door to the kingdom. If they had no qualms about killing their own people who showed no Galra signs, they would certainly not hesitate to end the lone, village boy who came from the woods, Galra signs or not. And that thought terrified Keith. Those bright blue eyes which had stared into his with such hope during dinner. To see them dead and dull underneath a cloth, directed toward Keith, under the soft glow of his lantern in the middle of the night, tossed away like yesterday’s garbage. That thought sickened Keith. An urgent panic crept up his throat and tightened around his heart in a vice grip and he urged himself to hurry to his next destination so he could finish there and return to Lance. Healthy, living, full-of-life Lance.

The leaves crunched under his boots as he raced along through the woods. When he finally came to the rock formation on the opposite end of the woods from the river, nearer to his cottage, he circled around the base of it until he found what he was hunting for. A large cave opened up into the side of the mountain and he quickly stepped inside, reaching into his coat pocket to pull the small journal from within it. He set the lantern down on a nearby rock and pulled the book open. The pages held mostly words but Keith could remember when he had first found it that there was a page with a bunch of odd symbols on it. Symbols he had seen before.

Eventually, he found the page he needed and held the book in one hand, lifting the lantern up with the other to shine it along the cave walls. Keith had been there many times to inspect the walls; symbols of varying sizes, shapes, and designs were etched and carved into the stone. For months, he had been attempting to figure out their meaning and significance but this journal was his first real connecting piece to the cave.

He held the book up to the sides of the cave, lantern following closely behind. Some of the carvings matched the book’s sketches perfectly and Keith excitedly skimmed the book for an explanation piece on the symbols. It was difficult in the dim lighting though and he could just as easily do that at the house. He knew the cave like the back of his hand and could easily come back if he needed. He stood for a moment, staring at the book before his mind wandered back to Lance. His decision was made. He quickly turned and stalked back towards the house.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

_The two kingdoms, although clearly separate, could not accept the existence of the other._

_King Alfor was angry about the Galra Curse while King Zarkon was angry about his punishment._

_So King Alfor made an unthinkable sacrifice. He used up his magic in order to lock King Zarkon away._

_King Zarkon was sealed in a dungeon of magic binding, a seal that could only be broken by the unification of the Galran people and the Altean people._

_Although, King Alfor had used up nearly all his magic and did not have enough remaining to continue living in the form of an Altean. So he condensed his remaining magic into the form of a giant crystal known as the Quintessence. It kept the Alteans safe and assured. As long as the Quintessence was still there, the seal would remain intact._

_Even still, the Galra Curse progressed and spread too far by that point, and King Zarkon’s imprisonment could not change that._

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Keith unlocked the front door and pushed it open slowly, cringing as it creaked slightly. He didn’t want to wake up Lance so early in the morning. He tiptoed inside and shut the door softly behind him and locking it once again. The key was placed on the nail next to the coat rack and he swiftly let his jacket drop from his shoulders. Before he placed it on the hook, he considered pulling the journal out of the inside pocket but ultimately he left it there. He unclipped his sword and hung it next to the coat.

Lance’s door was still closed but as he began to shuffle quietly passed it, it flung open. Keith just about jumped out of his skin, lantern clutched in a death grip. “Keith, you’re back.” Lance’s words were rushed and he stood in the doorway, softly illuminated by the lantern light’s soft glow.

“Uh, yeah. Did I wake you?” There was no reason to whisper, but they both were anyway. Night did that to people.

“No, no.” Lance swallowed and dropped his face to stare at the floor. “I, uh… I just couldn’t sleep.” He admitted, more to his feet.

Keith nodded in understanding. He had had his fair share of insomnia-ruled nights. “Is something wrong?” Whatever reason Lance had for being unable to fall asleep, Keith wanted to know, wanted to help.

“Well, not really.” Lance whispered back after a moment. “I’m just not used to… being alone…” He raised his head to gaze at the lantern absently. “Especially in a different house…” Adding the last part quietly.

Keith quickly caught on to this being about his family and before he could really think about what he was saying, it was already leaving his mouth. “Do you want me to sit with you?”

Lance’s head shot up and his eyes locked on Keith’s glowing ones, widened in surprise. “What?” He asked.

Keith felt much the same way. _What? What kind of creepy offer is that?_ But he carried on with it anyway, not one to back out of his impulsive decisions. “That way you’re not alone.” It almost sounded like a normal, not completely stupid answer when he whispered it with the determination he did.

Lance was silent for a moment and Keith was prepared to retract his ridiculous offer when Lance suddenly nodded and whispered back. “Okay.” He moved back from the door and headed toward the bed. Keith blinked for a moment but followed, pushing the door to rest against the frame, not completely closed. Somehow it made it weird for the door to be closed all the way. Too intimate. Lance was already shifting his long legs to lay flat under the covers and Keith stepped gingerly toward the desk, pulling the chair out of its spot and twirling it on one leg so he could face the opposite wall while he sat, then he settled into it. The lantern, he placed on the desk itself.

Blue eyes were watching him and Keith glanced over, unable to stop the rush of comfort it brought him to see the life still flowing within the other boy. “Goodnight, Lance.” He murmured. Leaning back in the chair slightly, he tilted his face toward the lantern’s opening and blew the flame out, shrouding the room in pitch black again.

Keith tilted his head back against the wood edge of the chair. His thoughts filtered through the symbols he had found and what they could possibly mean but after a couple of minutes of musing, a voice broke the silence.

“Hey, Keith?”

Keith sighed before whispering back. “Yes, Lance?” If Keith allowed his eyes to glow, he would have been able to see Lance’s face as he spoke but somehow the false anonymity of the dark was a comfort and he slid his eyes shut.

“Do you think there are any aliens out there?”

Keith laughed quickly but it sounded more like a scoff. “Of course.” He answered.

“What? But why?” Lance sounded scandalized even in his whispering.

“I knew you were egotistical-“

“Hey!” Lance exclaimed, no longer in a whisper.

Keith ignored the interruption. “–but do you really believe we’re the only living things in the entire universe?” He folded his arms and shifted in his seat to be more comfortable.

“It just seems unlikely.” He returned to his whisper.

Even though it was too dark to see anything, Keith’s eyes still opened and moved to roughly where Lance’s face would be, his eyebrows furrowed. “Unlikely? Of all the planets out there in the universe, you think it’s _unlikely_ that even one could have life?”

“Well. I mean, maybe there could be life on another planet, but I don’t think it would be the same as on Earth.” The bed shifted next to him.

With his eyesight removed, he noticed that his other senses became sharper. Every shift of the room, every sound outside, even his own breathing was all suddenly louder than they had previously been. “What do you mean?”

“Like, with large mammals and things.”

“So, bacteria and microorganisms?” Keith imagined a planet with the smallest living creatures possible. It made sense to him.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe a planet like that could exist. Maybe.”

Keith was silent for a moment, rolling the idea over in his mind. “What if we’re that planet?”

“What?”

“What if some other planet already had life when our planet was just bacteria?”

Lance said nothing. Keith turned his head toward the bed, even though it did nothing, wondering if Lance had fallen asleep. “ _Dude_.” Lance whispered urgently.

Keith chuckled softly but it was amplified by the empty silence of the room. “Maybe life on other planets doesn’t evolve in the same way and the bacteria planet is growing faster than our planet.”

Lance laughed and Keith couldn’t help but smile at the sound. “I’m too tired for this.” He breathed.

“Go to sleep, Lance.” This whisper was softer than he expected it to be, barely audible.

The bed shifted again. A couple minutes passed and Keith coursed a finger across his nails, feeling the small bumps and dips in each one. He was beginning to think that Lance had finally fallen asleep once again, when a soft whisper came from the bed. “Thanks.” Keith couldn’t even be sure it wasn’t his imagination.

Silence filled the room again and Keith listened carefully to Lance’s breathing. Eventually it evened out and slowed. He stayed in the chair at the desk for a moment. Once it became clear that Lance was gone and would not being saying anything else, he rose from his spot and carefully groped around until he found the handle of the lantern. Slowly and noiselessly, he snuck out of the room, closing the door behind him. Using his hand to stroke the wall, he guided himself back to his own room. It was still locked so he fumbled around in the dark until he managed to jam the key into the keyhole and turned it. Once inside, he locked the door again behind him and hung his lantern back on the hook in the wall. He sighed and yanked his vest over his head and tossed it onto the top of his dresser. Pushing the buttons out of his shirt, he slipped it off his arms and threw it up with the vest. After rummaging in his drawers for a moment, he chose a loose shirt and pulled it on. Leaving his belt on would often result in marks on this waist but he was growing more exhausted by the second and didn’t have enough energy to change his pants, so he unhooked his belt, pulled it out, and draped it over the chair at his desk. After undoing his shoes, kicking his boots aside, and shifting around on his couch, he finally drifted off into a restless slumber, dreaming of easy laughter and blue water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I grow sardonic misery in my garden, I don't know about you.


	5. The Art of the Salad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: Watch As Sheksper Skirts Around Giving Lance's Family Names

An echoing chop. In the room? Another chop. No, it was outside. Chop. What was that? More chopping.

Lance groaned and rolled over, smothering his face into the pillow underneath him. The noise continued though, even when he curled the cushion around his ears. A steady repetition of hits. Any thoughts he might’ve wanted to have were interrupted by the noise.

Finally, Lance couldn’t take it anymore and he pushed himself out of the bed, hopping as his foot was wrapped around the sheets. The bed could beg for his return all it wished but the hacking outside seemed to show no signs of stopping. Lance would have to stop it himself, then. He shook his foot away from the covers and stumbled back into the desk, letting out a startled yelp at the contact. The chopping continued, directly outside his window. Forgetting the dull throb in his hip, he whipped his head to the window and reached over to yank the curtain back.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he had thought was going to be outside – A woodpecker? Maybe? – but he also wasn’t expecting it to be Keith, standing directly outside his window at the stump. His legs were spread out and the axe was raised above his head. Swiftly, he brought the axe down in a single fluid motion and another hacking sound rang out.

Lance noticed that Keith wore another fitted, black shirt. It appeared to be a similar style to Lance’s shirt but snug since it wasn’t borrowed, although that may have been due to the fact he was missing his vest this time too. He had on black pants, which also seemed to be tailored perfectly to his legs. This outfit was vastly different from what Lance was used to seeing Keith in, aside from his laced boots which were the same. As Keith geared up again to drop the axe, Lance watched the way his shoulder blades moved underneath the fabric and if he had been aware of his blatant staring, he might have also noticed the way his entire face and neck flushed with a prominent red. Keith dropped the axe onto the wood, splitting it into two, and Lance’s heart lurched.

Setting the axe in the grass, Keith leaned it against the stump and picked the wood pieces up. As he turned to place the wood in the pile along the side of the building, his eyes locked with Lance’s and he blinked in surprise, stopping in his tracks. Lance could feel that his face was still hot and he hoped that Keith didn’t notice it. Both of their eyes were wide as they stared at each other, until Keith’s eyebrows dropped into their usual, intense position. He stepped forward and placed the firewood on the stack in front of Lance’s window, never breaking his expression. Lance wasn’t sure what that expression meant but he felt his heart pick up slightly as Keith moved closer, even though there was an entire wall between them. Keith stared up at him and pointed a finger at Lance then shifted it into a thumb and flicked it back, indicating that he wanted Lance outside. What did Keith want with him?

 _Oh! Oh, training. Keith is going to teach me sword fighting._ They stared at each other a moment longer. _He’s not wearing that, is he? No! Stop thinking like that!_ Keith moved to grab the axe and he haphazardly lobbed it into the stump as seemed to be its resting place. With purpose in his movements, he headed back towards the front side of the house. Lance dropped the curtain from his grasp, slipped his shoes on – which were under the bed slightly, where he had left them – and hustled his way outside to meet Keith.

Once he was outside, he spotted Keith carrying his sword back towards the house. He forced himself to keep his eyes on Keith’s face. “Keith! Bud! Hey, I’m sorry I slept in… Are you still going to teach me, or is that offer off the table now? Because I want to learn! Don’t get me wrong, or anything, I am excited about that, I’m just not a morning person, and-“

“Lance, it’s fine.” Keith sighed. “I have other things I can do if you want to do it later.” Lance thought he could see unease in Keith’s eyes but he couldn’t be sure.

Lance smiled and nodded. “Alright! Later. For sure, later.” He shot fingers guns in Keith’s direction and Keith gave a sarcastic snort before stepping around him and entering back into the house.

He had been wanting to wander around the forest some more to check out the area and although he would never admit it – not even to himself – he liked to use his time alone in the woods to think about his family and about Keith’s situation. Sword training with Keith was something he was excited about and was looking forward to, but it was far too early and he had too many thoughts. He just needed some time away from Keith and his tight shirts.

Quickly shaking his head, he hurried off into the woods before his face could decide to heat up again, picking a different direction than the last day. He wandered through the underbrush, stroking his hands along trees as he went. Feeling the rough bark under his fingers offered a physical comfort as he let his mind drift. Leaves ruffled overhead and birds called to one another. Short flowers grew around his feet and he did his best not to step on them. They reminded him of his sister. Lance’s brain supplied him with the image of his sister’s face. She had long black hair that reached her mid back and although it was never knotted, it was also never done up or styled in any way. Often, if she found a particular flower with large petals and a vibrant colour, she would place it gently on her ear. Lance could never understand it, but she was very big on nature, spending all her time in the fields, at the forest’s edge, or at the village flower cart. She could name any flower you showed her, and prided herself in it. It was impressive, so Lance had made it a game to find a flower she couldn’t distinguish. Every time though, she would confidently state the title and smirk at him as if his efforts were pitiful, and it only egged Lance on.

He stared at the small, pale blue plants poking out of the ground and bent closer to see more clearly. She could probably name those ones, and if Lance had paid attention once, maybe he would have remembered what they were called too. But he didn’t. He hadn’t thought it mattered in the same way she had. And now, there he was, staring at a flower in the woods, wishing more than anything that she would pop out from behind a tree, laugh and remind him of the name.

But that wasn’t going to happen. So, he picked himself up and carried on, running his hands along the tree bark again.

He thought of his younger brother. Such a troublemaker, that one. Always getting into things and places that he didn’t belong. You could tell him a thousand times over not to do something, but he’d do it anyway. ‘You could get hurt’ wasn’t a reason to him, it was a challenge. He needed proof that he would get hurt. Lance chuckled to himself as he thought of the many occasions that the younger boy had successfully climbed a tree or leaped across some boulders – not injuring himself – only to turn to their mother and yell “But I didn’t get hurt! I’m an adventurer!” How his mother wasn’t at her wits end with him was beyond Lance. That boy was a people person too, just like Lance. He would race around the village until he had rounded up as many kids in his age group as he could find. His loud voice, fearless leadership, and contagious excitement were more than enough to draw in the neighbourhood children. Everyone would compare his behaviour to how Lance was when he was that age, and Lance didn’t doubt it, taking pride in his little brother’s charisma.

Maybe if he were there now, the pair could go on an adventure in the woods and pretend they were knights and dragons. Lance would be the dragon; he was always the dragon. A bittersweet smile spread on his face as he thought of the pride his brother took in being a hero.

His little sister. She was a very soft and quiet girl. Whenever Lance spoke with her, he got the sense that she knew more than anyone else could ever know. The rest of his family was so rambunctious and excitable, but she was so calm, always. Being a young kid, she obviously needed assistance with some things, like reaching high shelves or baking, but Lance often felt as though she did more for him. He would braid her hair while sitting in her room and she would talk to him about her day. She would tell him about small things that may seem insignificant to anyone else but were important to her. The lady down the street had her hair different and she seemed happier. The air was slightly colder than the previous day but there was a warm wind. The boy a couple houses down didn’t wear his hat when he usually did. Things that no one else would notice, she would ramble on to Lance about everything. Her voice was always quiet and gentle, and her eyes were always distant, as though she were staring into another reality. It amazed Lance when she did that and he liked to think that she could see things that no one else could. She was a mystery.

She would be able to tell him what was going on with the situation right now. She would be able to help him figure out Keith too, which seemed impossible to Lance.

Lance thought of his father. A gentle man, although not very talkative. He was always in the garden, tending to his plants, and Lance and all his siblings would often spend their days helping him, or simply just watching. His father was always smiling and it was infectious. Lance smiled to himself just thinking about his father’s happiness. Work was strenuous on him, and Lance could tell, but it never deterred his joy. Once he was done in the garden, he would come in through the back door, kick the dirt off his shoes, kiss his wife, and then spend his time playing with Lance and his siblings. Lance could see the bags under his eyes but his smile was never faked as he lifted Lance’s younger brother up and flung him over his shoulders. His brother would squeal and his father would yell “I’ve got a sack of potatoes here!” It always made them all laugh. Sometimes, when Lance could tell that his father was more energized than normal, he would tackle his father and jump on his back. He would piggy-back while his younger siblings each picked a leg to latch onto. Laughing and smiling, he would try to walk around the house, with difficulty, until the oldest sister of the house would come barreling in and latch her arms around his neck and lean back, causing their father to stumble forwards. Everyone got a kick out of it and their mother would have to tell them to stop harassing their dad, although she would laugh too, every time.

Lance was sure that if his father were there right now, he could comfort Lance with a warm smile and some kind advice. But he wasn’t there. Imagining what kind of advice someone would give and receiving actual advice from them were not the same thing and his thoughts were not nearly as comforting as he wished they could have been.

His mind drifted to his mother as he stared up at the sky through the tree branches. The kindest woman he had ever met. One might think he was biased since it was his own mother but he stood by it, he would argue that anyone would be hard-pressed to find a person who was more selfless than her. She would stop anything she was doing to comfort one of her kids or help them out. Everything she did was quick, calculated, and calm. Moving around the house fast and orderly, never faltering. Lance was amazed by his mother, how she could take care of four kids and still look after the house. It was far more than Lance could ever do, but he supposed she had much more experience than he did. Nonetheless, he would help his mother around the house any chance he got, trying to make her life easier as much as he could. She was the warmest woman and she deserved the same love and compassion that she gave out. He could remember when he was younger and she would sit him in her lap and sing songs to him which would lull him to sleep. Even though he was older, he still derived security from the songs and would listen when she sang them to his younger siblings. Her bright smiles, her easy eyes, her soft expressions, and the absolute love she radiated with. Lance missed it all.

A small tear escaped the corner of his eye and tumbled down his cheek but he swiftly wiped it away. He would give anything just to hug his mother. Slowly he settled himself on the ground, leaning back against a tree. The sun shined brightly and he tilted his head up, letting his eyelids drop as the light painted his face. He sighed, relaxing his shoulders, and coursed his fingers through the grass and flowers next to his thighs.

He hoped he would see them soon; he hated being away from them. They probably all missed him. Were they waiting for him? Were they searching for him? He shouldn’t have left the village. Then they wouldn’t have left without him if he hadn’t. Not that he blamed them. If they had to evacuate, they had to evacuate. He just wished he could have been with them. The dinner they left behind floated back into his mind and he instinctively scrunched his noise inwards at the thought of the smell. They had to leave pretty quickly. They probably cried in fear as they hurried away to the next village. Lance’s heart lurched, causing real pain. Were they alright? What if he never saw his family again? No, no. Keith said they were fine, they were at the other village so they could get away from the Galra curse. Which Keith had. A slick layer of mistrust bubbled within him and he vaguely considered that Keith was lying to him. Maybe Lance was just gullible and he was being strung along by this monster.

No. Keith wasn’t a monster. He quickly corrected his thoughts, refusing to let himself think that. Keith was an aggressive asshole. Keith was an impulsive, sarcastic, loner. Keith was an oblivious, socially inept, recluse. Keith was a straightforward, overly worried, terrible liar. But he wasn’t a monster. Keith was still a person even if he wasn’t an Altean anymore. He may be lying about something, but Lance had really no right to pry into every aspect of Keith’s life. Although they had just met, and although Lance was still trying to adjust to this arrangement, and although Keith did things that didn’t make sense, Lance could still tell that Keith really did care about his well being and did enjoy his company. Lance was worried, but right then, he made a decision that he was going to trust that Keith had the best intentions, because what else could he do? Where else could he go? He nodded to himself slowly. His family was alive. They were well. And he would see them. He nodded again, more certain. Keith was going to teach him sword fighting so he could defend himself. Someone who wants to hurt you wouldn’t teach you how to fight back.

His thoughts vaguely drifted back to Keith chopping wood and he groaned, dropping his burning face into his palms. _You better pull yourself together before the actual sword fighting, Lance, or so help me!_ He thought to himself. _You are a beacon!_

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Flip. _Nothing new_. Flip. _More symbols_. Flip. _Nope_. Flip. _No._ Flip. _AGH!_

Keith shoved back and away from the desk, letting his chair scrape along the floorboards. Various objects on his shelves shook at the disruption. He stared hard at the open journal in front of him, eyes narrowing in frustration. Nothing. He was getting nothing. He was getting nowhere. Sketched in symbols filled page after page. Some scraped in as dark and desperate as possible. Some delicately and lightly filled in. Keith turned his gaze up to the large wooden board above his desk, covering the window, at the blue painted symbols matching the ones in the book and the ones in the cave. Keith braced his hands on the edge of the table, sighed, and pulled his chair back so he could sit at the desk once again. He flipped through the pages some more. He had been sifting through the pages for hours ever since Lance decided to go skipping off into the woods, and yet he wasn’t getting anywhere. This book was a bust and he was beginning to wish he had flung it into the ravine on his way out of the village to save himself the trouble and torment. This was going to get him nowhere. But he thought of his brother again and forced himself to continue reading.

Amongst all the symbol doodles and the endless passages detailing what Galra looked like, a short page caught Keith’s attention. He leaned closer to the writing, suddenly invested. It was a brief mention compared to the rest of the journal but it was there, clear as day. It detailed the symbols and their meanings. Keith’s eyes widened and he read faster. The symbols seemed to be used to seal things, things of substantial power. They were meant to lock someone or something away. He kept reading, hoping to find more information, but the next page offered no elaboration. Keith flipped back to the note and reread it.

_Seal away. Power. Locking someone or something…_

Keith shot up from his desk again, slamming the back of the chair into the table, and stumbled past the counter in the middle of the room, ramming his hip into the corner and hissing a curse but dashing out the door without stopping. His hands traced along the walls, keeping him balanced, and his boots slammed against the hardwood and echoed through the empty house. Lance’s door was ajar and he pushed into the room, holding the door handle as he looked around frantically. The bookshelf. He rushed over and ran his hand along each book, skimming the titles and muttering under his breath. Dust coated his fingers. As he searched through the shelves, he lowered himself slowly into a crouch before shooting straight up to his feet and cursing again.

“Where is it?!” He yelled to no one. His scathing, eyes raked the room rapidly, illuminating it with their blazing radiance. Suddenly, his gaze latched onto the corner of a book protruding from under the bed frame. Keith stomped forward instantly and ripped the book out. _The Tale of Voltron._ A grin broke out on his face and he quickly flipped through until he came to the part of the story he was seeking. Not glancing away from the pages as he read, he rushed back to his own room without bothering to shut Lance’s door behind him.

Once in his room he compared the book to the journal and his grin widened, frenzied. Right there. King Zarkon had been sealed away. _That can’t be what that cave is? Can it? They’re just carved into the stone, they can’t possibly be enough to-_

The front door burst open and Keith nearly swiped the entire storybook off the desk as he whipped toward the door of his room. “Hey samurai! Are we on for some sword fighting or what?” Lance’s voice came as he shouted into the house at random. Keith’s ears flattened and he hurried to his open door, poking his head out to see Lance leaning around the kitchen entry. “You better not be back in that garden,” He seemed to be muttering to himself and Keith quietly exited his room, watching him. “even if that ponytail is-“ He cut himself off as he turned, meeting Keith’s unamused face.

“What about my hair this time?”

“Nothing.” Lance coughed.

“ _Lance_ -“ Keith started before being cut off.

 “Your mullet is terrible.”

Keith reached a hand up to his hair before he could really think about the action. “Again, with that? It’s just long.”

“Yeah, okay. Just keep making excuses. Anyway, we on or what?”

Keith stared at him for a moment, confused. Narrowing his eyes at Lance’s frozen state, he broke the silence. “What–” And was immediately cut off again. It was actually sort of irritating.

“Sword training. We’re still doing that, right?” Lance nervously scratched the back of his neck and avoided Keith’s eyes. Keith sighed, defeated, and dropped his hand from his hair and moved toward the front door. Lifting his head quickly, Lance watched as Keith shuffled past him and opened the door, but not before lifting his sword sheath off the rack.

“Show me what you’ve got, then, village boy.” Keith threw over his shoulder, challengingly. Then he left and marched into the woods, trusting Lance would follow behind him.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

“Do it again.” Keith stared at Lance, unimpressed, arms crossed.

Lance complied.

“Your stance is off.” He moved closer to Lance, scrutinizing his legs and feet. Lance panted, catching his breath and gripping the sword in his right hand loosely. Birds fluttered amongst the trees and the sun beat down on them. Keith was vaguely aware of the heat but chose to ignore it in favour of teaching. “Spread your legs a little.” Feet shuffled against the grass, his legs moving apart. Keith squinted, leaning down slightly. “Bit more.” He muttered. Legs rearranged themselves faintly again. “Good. And bend your knees.” Keith pulled himself back, returning to his previous viewpoint.

“Like this?” Lance shifted downward marginally and raised an eyebrow at Keith.

“Your weight should be centred and low. If it feels comfortable, then try it.” Keith explained. Lance nodded and shifted his knees again, bouncing a bit to get a feel for his new position.

“Now do it again.” Keith watched as Lance repeated the defensive routine before slipping into the offensive routine directly after. Sweat dotted Lance’s forehead and neck, and Keith tried to ignore it, choosing to watch the boy’s overall ability. Lance twirled and swung the sword in his hand, shifting his arm with purpose and balancing his body with his other arm. His legs followed through on the sequence, this time bent and broadened. Keith was impressed that Lance was such a quick learner but kept the praise to himself. Lance’s face was schooled into an expression of pure concentration, as though he was imagining an opponent that wasn’t there. He moved with precision and determination until he finally completed the last move, panting and holding the final pose. His eyes shifted to where Keith stood, question in his eyes.

“That was better.” A lot better, in fact, and Keith was proud of him. But a sequence and an actual fight are very different things. No matter how perfectly Lance could preform the set, he still wasn’t guaranteed to win a fight.

Lance dropped his hand to his side and smiled smugly at Keith, relaxing his stance. “Yeah, I’m a natural. I bet I could even take you down.” He turned his profile to Keith and tossed his head back, watching Keith’s face as he moved. Keith rolled his eyes and turned to the tree behind him, grabbing a long, thin stick which was leaning on the trunk.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He scoffed, twisting the branch in his hand, eyes trained on Lance with searing focus. His legs shifted to steady himself and he leaned forward slightly, lowering his centre of balance. “Get ready.” Keith commanded.

Lance stared at Keith with startled confusion before it broke into a grin and he copied Keith’s movements, dropping into the stance he had learned. “Oh, I’m ready, Keith, born ready.” He held his sword out in front of him, wrapping both hands carefully around the hilt, and shifted from foot to foot.

Keith watched Lance’s movements like a hawk, waiting for him to attack first. He didn’t wait long, however, as Lance lunged forward, pushing the sword out in front of him quickly. Not quick enough. Keith pulled back his shoulder and hopped to the right, dodging easily. He slashed his branch toward Lance’s unprotected stomach. Lance blocked shakily. A dull thud of metal against wood as Lance wrenched his arms back. They locked eyes and Keith swept his weapon upward. It knocked Lance back and he blinked in shock, giving Keith room to rush forward and slice into Lance’s side. He threw the sword in the way, losing his grip on it but still managed to stop Keith’s hit. Colour Keith impressed, he hadn’t thought Lance would be able to block that one, even if his hold was wobbly and his footing was unstable.

Lance lowered his eyebrows and smirked before rapidly pushing his sword out. The stick was flung and Keith skipped back, regaining his balance. Panting, Lance lunged again. This time he was on the offensive. They moved together. Slashing and blocking. Back and forth. Lance and Keith. Neck and neck. Their feet dug into the dirt and pushed off. Lance gained confidence as the fight progressed. Keith grunted. Both were sweating. Wood on metal. Keith’s branch obtained many nicks and notches the more they pushed and pulled. The faster they turned and shifted, the more it felt like a dance and less like a battle.

Keith watched Lance’s arms. He memorized the ways the other boy fought and how he reacted to Keith’s style. Lance was stronger than he appeared and Keith could admit to himself that the taller boy was close to knocking him off balance once or twice. Although, Lance was clearly not as athletic as Keith was. He panted heavier and sweat more, causing his shirt to stick to certain parts of his torso. His eyes were determined and hopeful, and Keith smirked internally. _Can’t let you win the first battle. Your ego is big enough on its own._

They had gotten into a groove, when Keith suddenly ducked down and underneath the outstretched sword. Lance’s eyes widened in surprise and he attempted to swipe at Keith, but his moves were too unpredictable. Keith sidestepped. He slashed his branch upwards. It clashed with the sword, right next to Lance’s fingers. Lance sucked in a breath as the sword was ripped from his hand. It twirled through the air, tumbling along the grass. Lance watched it, frozen, before quickly turning back to his opponent. Keith looped the branch in his hand. Focused eyes never left Lance. His empty hand gripped the other end of the stick. Keith forcefully shoved it forward, stopping it just short of the other’s neck. Lance let out a strangled choke.

They stared at each other, panting. Keith didn’t move a muscle. He could feel Lance’s breath on his cheek and slowly he realized how close they were. Red tint accentuated Lance’s cheeks. From the exertion, Keith deduced, and he assumed his own face was probably in a similar condition. Lance’s eyes shifted to stare breathlessly at the weapon against his throat, before coming back up to Keith. He was off centre, his legs trembling, and his back unnaturally straight as he puffed his heaving chest out. No one could blame him, as his focus was completely on Keith. High on adrenaline, the shorter boy took advantage of the shift in concentration and pulled the bough away, deliberately bringing it down to Lance’s chest. Their eyes didn’t leave each other. Lance’s breathing began to even out and he relaxed his back, eyes laced with awe and some other emotion that Keith couldn’t distinguish, and was too busy to try. Before he could step away, Keith simpered smugly and slammed the branch back into Lance’s upper body. With a startled cry, Lance fell backwards, bracing with his arms as he hit the ground. Keith stepped forward, one boot on each side of Lance’s thighs, and gazed down at the boy.

“I’m impressed.” Keith stated.

Lance’s face brightened as he tried to hold down a smile, face still red. “Really?”

Keith tilted his head up and stared down his nose. “I mean, I could do better. But not bad for an amateur.” His smirk was sardonic.

The smile died off Lance’s face and he stared back at Keith, comprehending the quote. “You fuck.” He whispered, corners of his mouth curling against his will. Keith huffed a laugh and extended his arm, holding the bough right above Lance’s stomach. Lance shifted onto his elbows and grabbed the offered stick. Backing up and yanking, Keith helped him back into a standing position.

“I could have won that, but I got distracted.” Lance reasoned, cockily.

“Hm. Why do I not believe you?” Keith retorted, tossing the branch to the ground and turning his head over his shoulder as he strode toward his discarded sword.

“You believe in garden nymphs, but not me. I’m wounded, Keithy boy, truly.” He feigned hurt.

Keith bent down, shifting his leg out behind him to keep his balance, and picked the sword up. “Wood nymphs.” He corrected “And if you don’t stop with the nicknames, I _will_ wound you.” The sword shifted and revolved in his hand but his face remained emotionless, sans the glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Feisty.” Lance countered with a leer.

Eyebrows furrowed, Keith brought the sword back to rest at his side and he wandered past the trees, out of the clearing, in the direction of the house. “I’m taking the bath first, if only to get away from your terrible flirting.” The bath could wash away the dirt and sweat, but it couldn’t wash away the flush of his cheeks. Keith would try anyways.

“Terrible?! How dare you?! I’m smooth as hell!” Lance stomped through the woods after him, yelling. Keith kept his eyes ahead and grinned to himself.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

A salad. Typically, a cold dish. Vegetables of various types, raw or cooked. They can be seasoned with dressings such as a sleek oil, or a piquant vinegar. If you’re feeling you need a little more, some meat, fish, or other ingredients can be added. Salads are great and easy to make. Light salads, filling salads, side salads, main course salads. There are so many ways to make a salad.

However, a handful of leaves and half a tomato was not one of those ways to make a salad. No matter what Lance thought. They were going to have a real salad this time, Keith would make sure of that.

There hadn’t been a lot of time to prepare for dinner since they were so busy practicing with the sword, so salad was the meal for the night. It was quick, required minimal preparation, and it gave use to the last bit of meat that Keith had left. The meat would rot if they didn’t eat it soon, but it wasn’t enough for a meal on its own. Plus, there was a garden in the back with some carefully nursed vegetables that Keith was very proud of, and a salad only made sense.

Some fresh lettuce, diced tomatoes, vinegar, sliced carrots, and just a touch of black pepper. Keith’s mouth was already watering at the thought of such a salad. If Lance would just stop _fighting_ him about how to make it, maybe they could have been eating by then.

“What are you doing?” Keith glanced up from the tomato he was chopping to give an incredulous look at Lance one counter over. It wasn’t a question of curiosity.

Lance tore his gaze from where he was dropping washed lettuce parts into a bowl, confused. “What? I’m breaking the lettuce?” He snapped another stem in half and placed both pieces with the others.

“You’re making them too big.” Keith muttered and turned back to cutting.

“I am not! Look, they’re fine.” The bowl was shoved into Keith’s upper arm.

Keith stopped again and glared at the lettuce from the corner of his eye before flicking his eyes back up to Lance’s superciliousness, matching his expression. “I know you seem to have trouble with salads–”

“I do not!” He pulled the bowl back as if he had been burned by Keith’s words.

“–especially after seeing yesterday’s dinner.” Keith ignored the interruption, exaggerating the syllables and shifting the tomatoes on the cutting board.

Fully focused on the insult to his salad-making ability, Lance deposited the bowl on the counter with a clank and briefly abandoned his job. “You liked it!” He accused.

“I ate it.” The tomatoes were cut to Keith’s liking so he turned to lean his hip against the counter and cross his arms at Lance. “To be polite.”

“You? Being polite?” Lance derided. “You don’t know _how_ to be polite!”

“You don’t know how to make a salad!” Keith flung his arms outward and his voice rose several octaves.

Lance pointed at the bowl on the counter again. “Then what is that?! Keith!”

“A bowl of lettuce pieces that you made too big.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to break out the ruler and the abacus.” Lance sneered.

Frustrated at Lance’s stubbornness, Keith groaned. “Why are you being so difficult?” Before Lance could answer though, he sighed. “Fine.” And raised the cutting board from the counter. Normally Keith would continue to argue, but if he was being honest, he was too hungry and the painful edge that lined his stomach was becoming a higher priority than the size of the lettuce. Even if Keith was very particular about these things. He scraped the diced tomato into the bowl next to Lance with the edge of his knife. “Let’s not fight.”

Lance watched the pieces slide off the wood and tumble into the dish. A sly grin spread along Lance’s face and his voice slipped into something amused. “Yes. _Lettuce_ not fight.”

While he snickered at his own joke, Keith calmly placed the cutting board back onto the counter along with the knife, then stepped away, farther into the open space of the kitchen. He turned to Lance with full seriousness. “I take it back. Get ready to fight.”

Throwing his head back, Lance’s laugh rang out, filling the room. Keith remained entirely deadpan but watched as Lance’s shoulders shook. “You may have gotten me today, but I almost had you! I’ll absolutely decimate you next time!” Lance beat a fist against his chest and stood up straighter.

Collecting the meat that he had already cut, Keith walked it over to the pot hung over the calmly flickering fire. He pushed the pieces into the pot and turned back to Lance, folding his arms and leaning against the side of the fireplace. “Not a snowball’s chance in hell.” Keith snorted. “Now stop standing around and toss the salad already.”

He received a frown in return as Lance twisted back around to the bowl. “I’ll toss _your_ salad.” It was a grumble, barely loud enough for Keith hear. “Wait.” He muttered urgently and Keith watched his shoulders twitch.

“Uh. Yeah, that’s what I asked you to do?” Keith failed to understand how that was a comeback at all and his eyebrows furrowed again.

Lance nearly smacked the entire salad off the counter as he whipped around to glare at Keith, which only further confused the boy. “Yes, thank you, Keith.” His words were spat out in a string without pause, dismissing Keith from responding. Lance’s face burned red. It was quickly becoming Keith’s favourite thing, even though he didn’t fully understand the reason behind it every time. Or any time, to be honest.

“It’s our salad, by the way. I know I insulted you, but you’re still helping. So, toss _our_ salad.”

Lance truly looked like he was about to have aneurysm any second and his widened, disbelieving eyes burned straight into Keith. He hunched forward slightly and held his hands out toward Keith in a placating manner. If he pressed his lips into a thinner line, they’d disappear. Until he spoke, again in a rapid-fire line but his voice was high pitched and panicked. “Keith, I’m gonna need you to stop talking right now, immediately, this instant!”

“What? Don’t tell me to stop talking!” Confusion was quickly replaced by anger and he shoved himself away from the wall, leaning forward threateningly, fists clenched.

“You keep saying things like that!”

“Like what?!” Eyes glowed and ears flattened back, Keith threw his arms up again, confusion returning alongside his rage.

“Suggestive salad things!” Lance screeched.

Keith stomped toward the counter and picked up the kitchen knife, angrily slashing at a carrot. “Here’s a salad suggestion; help fucking make it!”

“Fine! Here, you _toss the salad_ and I’ll do that!” Lance’s facial expression matched Keith’s and without thinking, he hastily reached his hand out to grab the knife in Keith’s hand.

From the corner of his eyes, Keith registered the movement of Lance’s hand and before it could get any closer, Keith shot backwards. His feet caught on each other in his imperative attempt to get away. The knife still in his hand, he lost his footing completely and tumbled to the ground. He tried to catch himself or break the fall, but he only succeeded in sliding his clenched hand up the knife, effectively slicing his palm open. Pain radiated through his back as he landed, and he tossed the knife away as if it burned. “Fuck!” Clasping his hand until his knuckles turned white, he pulled it into his chest and pushed himself into a sitting position. “Fucking hell.” He gritted out. Blood seeped out of his fist and trailed down his arm, painting his purple skin crimson.

“Keith, oh my god, I’m so sorry! I forgot, I– shit! You’re bleeding! Like, a lot!” Lance was babbling and Keith drew his gaze away to stare at the boy. In a panic, he staggered around the kitchen, looking for something to help with. He paused in front of Keith, eyes shifting frantically between Keith’s hand and his eyes, wanting so badly to help him, but knowing he couldn’t touch. The threat of touch was what got them there to begin with.

“Lance, it’s okay. I’m not going to bleed out.” Keith whispered. His hand had gone slightly numb and his focus was locked on Lance panicking around the small room. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware it was probably shock setting in. “There’s a closet at the end of the hall, across from my room. There’s a first aid kit in it. Can you bring it to me?” He spoke softly and Lance stared at him, nodding more than necessary before hurrying down the hall.

Blood continued flowing from his hand but it had begun to slow down. Spreading his legs and leaning forward, he let the blood drip onto the hardwood floor. Keith could have easily gotten mad at Lance for being so careless, but the utter fear in his eyes when Keith had fallen was more than enough to kill any words he may have yelled. Keith glanced up at his gloves tossed carelessly on the kitchen table from when he had taken them off to cook. Normally he left them on, but Lance had complained about them. Something about them being sweaty and gross. Vague shuffling sounds came from the hallway, followed by hurried footsteps. Lance rushed over and set the small box on the ground next to Keith.

“Thank you. Could you go make sure the meat’s not burning?” Keith asked.

Lance hesitated. “But–”

“Lance, it’s fine.” He sighed and gave Lance a reassuring smile.

Nodding slowly to himself, Lance stepped over to the fireplace and removed the meat from the pot. He brought it over to the bowl and added it.

Still seated on the floor, Keith proceeded to remove supplies from the box. Unclenching his hand released a low hiss from him, involuntarily. He ignored the concerned glance Lance gave him. The sting shot through his hand repeatedly as he wiped the blood away until the cuts were visible. He winced again, this time from the sight of his opened skin. That would require stitches. As he prepared to darn his hand back together, Lance interrupted his concentration.

“Why don’t you do it at the table?” His voice was soft.

“That’s where we eat.” Keith continued to pierce his wound.

Lance hummed in response and Keith stitched his hand in silence.

Dinner was spent exchanging tentative small talk and Keith could tell Lance felt guilty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I read over my own writing, I always just whisper "What in the Sam heck am I doing?"  
> This time was no different.


	6. Carnation Coronation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soft woods stuff, who'd've guessed?????

Silence filled the house, calm and comforting. Keith stared at the ceiling, straining his giant ears to hear the birds outside. Had there not been a painted plank of wood over his window, maybe he would have seen the light pouring in his window. The mural was more important, he told himself.

His blanket was on the floor from where he had most likely kicked it off in the night. Lazily, he raised his arm above his face and illuminated it with the glow of his eyes. Red dotted the bandages wrapped around each individual finger and his palm. Those would need to be changed. His hands felt cold and he struggled against his sleep clouded brain to remember where he had left his gloves. Probably on the kitchen table.

A slight pull was felt in his skin when he flexed his fingers but it wasn’t painful, rather it was snug and mildly bothersome. There was a dull throb to the cuts, but it was there regardless of his hand’s position; it could be ignored. Sighing, he forced himself into a sit, halfway off the couch. He blinked and grumbled to himself. A yawn ripped from his throat and he stretched his arms upwards, letting it tug his muscles until it became painful.

One last suffering sigh escaped his mouth and he lifted himself from the couch entirely. The fairy-tale book from the previous day was still on his desk, opened to the page he had been reading before. Next to it was the journal, also open. Thoughts of the last discovery he made about the symbols floated into his mind and he stared hard at the blue painting above his desk. Originally, he was planning to work on his garden, but suddenly remembering the new information curbed any desire he had to leave his room. Until he moved his hands to pick up the book and yanked them back again. _Gloves first, then journal._ He directed himself to his door and trudged to the kitchen.

Sure enough, his gloves were there. His hands would need new coverings first, however. The first aid kit was still on the floor and he heaved it up onto the table. After he finished unwrapping and rewrapping his injury with new dressings, he closed the kit but left it there. He picked up the gloves next to it and carefully tugged them on, vigilant to avoid upsetting the bandages. Once that was taken care of, he shuffled back to his room and closed the door quietly behind him. Although a door couldn’t possibly wake Lance, with what a heavy sleeper he was, Keith didn’t want to take any chances since the early mornings and the time when Lance was out exploring were the only opportunities he got for silence those days. How quickly life flipped the switch. From solitude to a loud roommate in less than a day.

He plopped himself down into the desk chair and scooted it closer to the surface in front of him. The journal still had many more pages that Keith had not yet read and he hoped he could make a sizeable dent in it that day. But it was difficult. The writings droned on and on about a whole lot of nothing. Just descriptions of the sigils he had already seen, depictions of Galrans, and how they physically differed from Alteans. Finally, he came to another paragraph of useful information. Any information that Keith actually wanted seemed to be spread throughout the book, which irritated him and made his job tedious.

So far, he had determined that the sigils in the cave were used to lock something up but he found it very hard to believe that it would be King Zarkon like in the story. This passage detailed the way that one would unlock the cage created by the sigils. _The unification of the Galra people and the Altean people._ What does that mean? He kept reading the journal while glancing over to the fairy-tale every so often. The unification. The amalgamation. The joining of.

_Just bringing the two kingdoms together, right? That’s what that means? Or does it mean when King Alfor and King Zarkon make up? Neither of those things are ever going to happen… The only place that Galrans and Alteans can get along is in heaven._

Keith leaned back in his chair, pushing it until it only stood on two legs then balanced himself out with his foot against the desk. His head lolled back and he stared up at the ceiling, losing himself in thought. Thoughts about the curse, mostly. Would he ever be Altean again? Or was he doomed to be a monster until he died, alone. It wasn’t that he preferred to be alone, he quite enjoyed and longed for company, he had just been forced into solitude and was terrible at making conversation. Lance seemed easy enough to talk too, but every so often, something in the conversation would get Lance all riled up for reasons Keith couldn’t fathom, and he was reminded of how much he didn’t know about people and their habits.

He thought back to his brother. Would he ever get to see him again? Was he even alive? Or was he just another half-Galra corpse in the woods that Keith had never found? That thought chilled him to the bone. Everyday he strived to find a way to get to the bottom of the curse, and how to reverse it, or at the very least, to stop it from spreading. And there he was, one step closer to figuring out a piece of the puzzle, only to be thrown three steps back. The unification of both kingdoms? Not a chance. And that seemed to only be good for releasing the lock on the cage. Was releasing something from a cage really a good and helpful idea? The fairy-tale suggested it was Zarkon who was in the cage so maybe that was the opposite of a helpful idea…

A door opened. Somewhere down the hall, he heard it, his ears flicking in the direction of the noise. His head turned toward the noise instinctively, following his ears. Lance must be up. He had never been in his room when Lance had woken up and he wondered vaguely if he was supposed to go greet him. The previous days, Lance had come to find him in the early morning. Eyebrows furrowed in disgruntlement at the social etiquette he didn’t understand but felt he had to do, he pushed himself up from his chair and made his way down the hall. He could see in the kitchen, Lance glancing around, seemingly searching for something. Keith cleared his throat, rather awkwardly.

The noise caught Lance’s attention and he turned around, mildly startled. “Hey, morning.” He offered a crooked, half-smile that was filled with uncertainty and it caused Keith’s heart to skip a beat before returning to a steady, albeit faster, rhythm.

“Yeah, hey.” Keith squinted slightly. “Morning, that is. Yeah…” He coughed. When had he gotten so awful at morning greetings? Why was Lance being so formal about it too? What had happened to his usual jovial insulting greetings? Was this about what had happened the day before?

“Um…” Lance’s hand had found the back of his neck and he glanced away from Keith guiltily, his gaze flickering back to Keith’s hand every so often. “How’s your hand doing?” So it was the hand.

“Hmm?” He moved his gloved hand around, assessing it again. “Stings a little, but it’s fine.”

“I’m really sorry about that, I didn’t mean –”

Keith held out his hand – his non-injured one – to halt Lance’s train of thought. “Lance. It’s fine. Really.” He offered what he hoped was an assuring smile. Lance only nodded in silence, but his shoulders relaxed and the hint of a smile played at his lips. Keith decided he had to repair this. Somehow… “So, any adventures planned for the day?” He aimed for a teasing lilt but he wasn’t sure he quite reached it.

Lance straightened up and a light returned to his eyes; it caught Keith’s attention and he forced away the smile threatening his face. His entire attitude did a complete one-eighty at the change of subject. “Absolutely! Do you know if there’s a place with a lot of flowers around here? Like a flower field?”

If Keith said that he had been expecting that to come out of Lance’s mouth, he would be a liar. Lance did seem to enjoy nature and exploration, but somehow it struck Keith as odd that Lance would be interested in flowers. He thought back to when the pair had been heading into the village and he had picked some daises. _Maybe it’s not that unexpected._ He mused.

“There’s one past the hill in that direction. It’s huge, can’t miss it.” Keith tossed a thumb over his shoulder to the back of the house.

Smiling in response, Lance made a move to exit the kitchen and Keith stepped out of the way. “Thanks.” He glanced over his shoulder as he left, exposing his usual smirk. “Try not to miss me too much, Mullet.” With one last noncommittal wave at Keith, he pulled the door open and stepped out into the world.

Although he didn’t say anything back, he frowned at the use of the name and watched until Lance was gone. He waited a minute, staring at the door. Birds chirped outside and sunlight streamed in through the kitchen window, an amazing contrast to Keith’s room. Speaking of Keith’s room, he decided to return to his investigation into the journal. Turning swiftly on his heel, he made his way back to his door and closed it behind himself.

Hours went by and he did nothing but read – and occasionally reread when he caught his mind wandering – and he was obtaining no new information. Every word he read made him feel more hopeless. His legs twitched under the desk as his body yearned to move. Keith stretched them out underneath the wooden surface until he was sure his knee would pop under the strain. It was an attempt to subdue the itching in his legs but it really wasn’t helping and he just sighed, letting his upper body drop into an exasperated slouch.

Keith absentmindedly flipped through the book, coursing his hand along the leather of the cover. It soothed his fingertips and he sighed, resting his cheek against his other hand. He trailed his nail through the creases and breaks in the wrapping of the journal. A small marking in the corner of the cover caught his eye, then. At first, he almost glanced right over it as another tear in the book, but something about it pulled his attention right back. The lines were too clean and precise. He dragged the pages back to catch a clearer view of the symbols and once it was fully revealed, he could see it was a carefully carved name.

_Allura._

_Why does that name sound familiar…?_ Keith shifted off of his hand and squinted at the name in thought. _I’ve heard that name. Where have I heard it?_ He pressed his fingernail into the crevices of the name, attempting to recall it from his memory. It was pointless though, and he huffed in frustration.

_I’m really getting nowhere._ With the book slammed shut and shoved violently to the other side of his desk, knocking over various items in its way, Keith flung himself from his chair and sped-walked out of the room, locking it with his necklace key. His boots clacked against the wood and he was reminded of the emptiness of the house. Even though he really needed to continue inspecting the journal, he was beginning to feel suffocated in the cluttered room and decided instead to clear his head of all his worries. Pulling his long, flowing jacket off the hook and slipping it on, he headed out the door. Originally his plan was to just get out and stretch his legs, reset his body and let his mind be freed, but after actually leaving the house, he realized just how desperately he needed to be away from his room and from the journal.

A breeze ruffled through Keith’s hair, cool and light. It refreshed him and cleared his lungs. He could have wandered the forest, or gone to the pond a small distance away from the house, past the mountain. The garden could have been tended to, or he could have gone down to the village and collected some more items. And yet, he did none of those things. Instead, he stepped past the fence bordering his yard and strode toward the hill, deeply breathing in the fresh air as he went.

It hadn’t fully registered within his mind that he was ambling in the direction that he had directed Lance earlier that morning, and he continued on. He focused on the cerulean sky momentarily before shifting his gaze to the treetops. Birds sung and Keith searched for them in the branches. His fingertips trailed up the sides of his jacket until they found the opening of the pockets and he shoved his gloved hands in. The crisp scent of oncoming rain curled around him and he scrunched his nose uncomfortably. It made him feel more lethargic than the usual atmosphere would. Rain was good though; it would water his plants. The trees stretched out in all directions and Keith briefly squinted into the expanse of the woods, revelling in the isolation and shoving down the ache his missing brother left behind.

The hill sloped upwards in front of him and he tramped over it. Paused at the top, he could observe the layout of the land ahead of him. A large flower field spread out, blooming from the base of the hill. Sprouts of red, blue, yellow, purple, and pink dotted the span of grass below, but Keith’s eyes instantly locked onto a figure seated cross-legged amongst the flowers. Brown hair and white shirt contrasted with the bright colours of the flowers, making the boy in the field extremely noticeable.

Keith carefully side-stepped down the side of the hill, flailing his arms out to balance himself. He made it to the bottom, nearly slipping once but thankful that the other hadn’t heard him yet. The flowers brushed his legs as he meandered through the field. Once he was within earshot, the seated boy flinched, whipping around to stare, startled, at Keith. His eyes shrank slightly when he realized who it was, but they shined no less. Relaxing, he turned back around to focus on whatever was in his hands, which Keith couldn’t see from his vantage point. Neither of them spoke and Keith took the silence as an invitation. He cautiously moved toward Lance, bending his knees into a sitting position and catching himself with his hands, settling down with his legs folded beneath him.

From there, Keith could see that Lance was weaving a collection of flowers together into a circle. He wasn’t sure what the point of it was, but the alternating pattern of red and pink was very complimenting. Lance’s slender fingers pressed and braided the stems of the long flowers together, expertly tightening them so as not to leave any noticeable holes. Keith was entranced by the calm twists and turns of the plants Lance was crafting. His eyes flicked up to catch Lance’s tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth in his concentration. He glanced away. A small pile of picked flowers was heaped in front of Lance’s knees, various colours chosen.

“You ever make flower crowns before?” Lance asked suddenly, yet softly.

“Uh…” He answered dumbly. Keith hadn’t been sure how to begin a conversation with Lance after how awkwardly he had danced around their interactions in the kitchen. It surprised Keith when Lance was the first to initiate contact, although it really shouldn’t’ve. This was the ever-talkative Lance. Of course, he would be the first to break the silence.

Lance held the folded flower craft out towards Keith to show him what he was referring to.

Keith frowned. “Is that what those are?” It was a rhetorical question, more of an indication that he had never made one, really.

A laugh escaped Lance, although it was clipped and his expression returned to being vaguely sad and tired once again. Keith stared at him for a moment, bothered by the change in visage. He cleared his throat self-consciously. “I – No, I haven’t ever made a flower… crown…” That wasn’t exactly the best attempt to fuel a conversation, but then again, Keith wasn’t exactly well versed in those types of things anyway and he couldn’t really be to blame. Yet, even to his own ears it sounded unsure.

Lance paused his hands briefly to glance at Keith before continuing with his weaving. Slowly, a small smile returned to his features. Whether it was out of general happiness or from hearing Keith’s embarrassment was a real mystery. Regardless, Lance smiled and Keith would take whatever victory he could get.

The last couple stems were tied into place and tightened, securing the flowers together, and Lance set it down in the grass next to the flower pile. “I’ll teach you.” Lance’s voice was still subdued. It was odd for Lance to not be loud and expressive but Keith couldn’t figure out the reasoning behind this sudden shift in personality. Was he feeling alright? Lance scooped up a handful of flowers – differing in colours and petal shapes – and dropped them in front of Keith’s knee. “Pick a colour scheme! You can make a pattern if you want, but it looks more natural if – Wait, can you even see colour or is everything just yellow?” Lance squinted. His energy had slowly returned to him as he got further distracted in his explanation.

Keith’s eyebrows furrowed. “ _Yes._ I can see colour.” He found himself gazing into Lance’s ocean blue eyes. _And I am sure glad I can see colour…_ He quickly shoved the notion down and willed his blush away, continuing to speak to cover up his questionable thoughts. “But, I think colour is darker with Galra eyes.” He stared at the flowers at his leg and tried to think back to before he had been overtaken by the curse but he hadn’t focused on colour enough to remember a difference.

“Darker? That’s weird, since your eyes _glow._ Can you control that, by the way? How bright can you make them?” Lance had progressively leaned toward Keith, gawking at his eyes.

“ _Lance.”_ Keith frowned slightly, stopping Lance in his flow of questions. “Flower crowns.” It was supposed to be a reminder to bring Lance back to the topic at hand but it lost most of its bite when his voice cracked near the end of his words.

Lance smiled and leaned away from Keith again. “Ah, right, right!” He picked up a blue flower and two purple flowers. Keith watched as Lance adjusted them between his fingers to demonstrate the way to braid the stems together. “You hold two on one side, and the other on the other side.” He split up the flowers amongst both hands. “And the outside flower on the side with two, you bring it to the middle. Then you continue.” Purple stem brought to the middle, blue stem to the middle, purple stem, purple stem, blue stem, purple stem. Keith attempted to follow along with the intricate pattern, but even with Lance’s instructions, the addition of more flowers once the original three had run short was quickly getting him lost. Lance’s voice was rapidly becoming a buzz of noise, a collection of words that held no meaning. The stems produced a beautiful braid but how it was being woven in that way was entirely over Keith’s head. A chuckle shook him from his intense concentration and he tilted his head up to stare at Lance above him. Above him? When had he moved toward Lance’s hands? His back popped as he pulled himself backward, too fast.

“If you made your own, you could stick your face in that instead.” The smirk was present in Lance’s voice. His hands hadn’t stilled even as he was no longer looking at the flowers.

Keith was sure his face had tinted pink with embarrassment, but he didn’t say anything aside from inaudible grumbling. Grumpily, he snatched a yellow, a pink, and a purple flower from the pile in front of him and glanced briefly back to Lance’s crown. It wasn’t too difficult in theory. If Lance could do it, surely, he could too, right? That was what he tried to convince himself, but as he clumsily fumbled the stems together, he began to realize just how wrong he was. The braid could barely even be considered a braid and it was only going downhill. It looked nothing like Lance’s eloquent weaving. Various stems were sticking out in bulges, flowers were bent and skewed around the headband, and it was clear that Keith was throwing flowers into the loop without rhyme or reason. His claws kept getting stuck amongst the stems as well which made it difficult to tighten the flowers without fully snapping them. He glared at Lance’s flower crown, which was nearly done. His blue and purple flowers melded with each other beautifully and the petals were fluffed up and vibrant. The flowers on Keith’s coronet paled in comparison. He frowned and struggled to repair it.

A sigh escaped him and he dropped the crown into the grass at his feet, pushing himself back to lay along the ground, his legs still folded. The dirt would cover his jacket when he eventually got up, but his frustration was overriding that worry. He flung his arms out into the growing flowers beside him and let his eyes search the sky until they watered from the blinding sun.

“Hey man, don’t give up just yet!” Keith turned his head to stare at Lance over his chin. Lance was grimacing at the flower monstrosity Keith had created. “I mean… It is your first time,” Keith snorted and Lance’s eyes moved to meet his. “but you don’t have to cry about it.” He raised an eyebrow.

Keith furrowed his brows and scraped the sleeve of his jacket along his eyes. “I’m not crying. It’s the sun.” He sneered.

“You don’t have to lie. I’d cry if I made that too.” Lance stared condescendingly at Keith’s creation but there was a lilt of amusement in his tone.

Shooting upright into a sitting position, he gritted his teeth in irritation. “I’m not lying, and that’s just a test run.” Keith picked up his wonky headdress and yanked it apart, tossing the flower remnants over top of the both of them, frowning as they landed around him, some catching on his ears. His ears shifted uncomfortably, flinging the flowers away. Lance laughed at Keith’s impatient action and Keith could feel the boy’s eyes remain on him as he picked up flowers from his pile at random. He tried to ignore the increase in his heart rate at the prospect of being watched while he sloppily braided the stems. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He wasn’t trying to impress Lance. That would be ridiculous.

The second time around didn’t go any smoother. It looked like he had made it in the dark with his feet. Grimacing, he threw it down in frustration. Lance, who had been carefully weaving his blue and purple flowers together, stopped to glance over at Keith’s progress. Or lack thereof.

“Having trouble?” Lance teased, clearly seeing Keith’s struggle.

Keith glared at him, his eyes glowing. “ _No.”_ He growled. It was unconvincing. They stared at each other, not speaking. Amusement painted Lance’s face while irritation laced Keith’s.

Finally, Lance turned away, finishing up the last tie in his crown before placing it on his head. Keith watched the movement. The natural blue and purple petals complimented each other and caused Lance’s eyes to pop, shining brighter. It softened his entire face and highlighted the slight reddening tint of his cheeks and lips. The wind tousled the petals and his hair as it flowed past them calmly. Blue was Lance’s colour, no doubt. Keith was sure the burning heat on his face was extremely visible but he couldn’t bring himself to turn away from the gentle expression on the other’s face. A small, sincere smile fluttered at Lance’s lips and he turned back to the red and pink flower crown he had been finishing when Keith had arrived before turning back to the awestruck boy.

“Obviously, you’re never going to be a master flower crown maker like me, but you’ll get better with practice.” Lance smirked, but it wasn’t nearly as challenging as it usually was. “Here.” He held the diadem out toward Keith’s head and paused, waiting. It was obvious what he was waiting for, but Keith hesitated. All he could think about was what would happen if his ears shifted accidentally, or Lance slipped, or any number of things, really. One touch. That was all it would take. Lance continued to smile at him encouragingly, however, and Keith wearily leaned forward, his ears twitching from his nerves. He stared into Lance’s oceanic eyes through the cover of his bangs, willing for the other’s caution.

“My ears…” He murmured as the hands pushed closer to his head and his anxiety increased.

Lance cautiously laid the crown onto Keith’s head snickering as it slid to the side, held in place only by Keith’s ears. “It’s fine, see?” He reasoned, although Keith was sure it did look a little absurd the way it was tilted. Keith pulled his head back and sat straighter. He watched Lance’s eyes widen slightly as he got a real look of Keith in the flower circlet. It made Keith feel slightly self-conscious having Lance so wonderstruck as he just _stared_. It was very nicely crafted so it made sense why Lance would want to admire it, although Keith couldn’t help but wish the open expression were directed at him rather than the crown. “It suits you.” Lance coughed, quickly turning back to the flower pile.

Keith blinked and reached a gloved hand up to his head, barely brushing it across the red and pink petals. “Yours too…” Lance smiled nervously. He had never done anything of this sort, and certainly not with another person. He hadn’t done anything with another person in general for a long time, as a matter of fact, and although he was a recluse, he felt refreshed and relaxed by his interactions with Lance. Something in the back of his mind asked if ‘anything of this sort’ was referring to the flower crown making, or something else. He chose to ignore it in favour of staring at the flowers circling Lance’s head for a moment longer. “Why do you know how to make these?” His eyebrows furrowed, this time in confusion and interest.

Lance’s expression reigned in from his unsure blush, to one of delighted excitement. “My sister!” His smile beamed. “She makes these all the time! She loves flowers! And all plants, really. But she really loves flowers and she showed me how to pick the best flowers and how to tie them into crowns!” He spoke rapid-fire, using his hands to animate his words. The failed attempt of a diadem lay in front of Keith and Lance reached his hand over to lift it between the two boys. “She’s a real flower crown master. I used to make really messy ones like this when I was starting out too.” He tried hiding his smirk at the flowers in his hand but Keith saw it. “But she knows everything about flowers. Like this one!” Picking up a blue flower from one of his piles, held it out to Keith. “It’s a chicory! I know that because she told me once. She knows _every_ flower! I swear!” The flower was waggled until Keith gingerly plucked it out of his hand. Keith gazed deeply into the pale blue flower before glancing back up at Lance, comparing it to his eyes. Lance’s eyes were much nicer, Keith decided.

“She’s always going into the woods and getting lost but when she comes back she has all these flowers and things. Oh man, I remember one time she disappeared and none of us could find her and mama was freaking out.” Lance’s smile widened and he stared off into the distance, wistfully. “We looked everywhere for her all day and we couldn’t find her, but eventually she came back! And she was in the woods the whole day! She was holding, like, twenty flower crowns and this weird flower scarf thing… It looked really terrible but she tried. But anyway, she spent all day making flower crowns in the woods and mama was so mad!” He shook with laughter as he retold the story and Keith found himself smiling freely along with him.

As his laughter died down, Keith twirled the flower between his fingers. “How big is your family?” He asked, voice light.

“There’s me, my mama, my papa, my brother, and my two sisters.” He counted off on his fingers as he went. “My other sister is younger than me, and so is my brother. They aren’t into flowers like my sister is though. My father actually runs a garden and sells vegetables in the local market, so we’re kind of a green thumb family!” Lance continued to ramble on about his family, sharing stories and facts about each member. The smile on his face never left and he seemed entirely lost in his memories. Keith listened intently to every word and paid careful attention to every breathy laugh. Whenever the moment seemed right, Keith would interject a question or a comment. He never let go of the flower in his hand. Chicory, did he say? Yeah, chicory. Lance whipped his hands around in dramatic gestures to demonstrate various parts of his stories and Keith couldn’t help but find it endearing. That thought might have jolted him if he hadn’t been so enthralled by Lance’s rendition of an adventure his brother had been on.

The pair stayed there, in the secluded flower field. Hours passed and Keith learned more about Lance’s family than he had expected he would. Wind flowed through the field, ruffling their hair as well as the fur on Keith’s ears. Sunlight filtered through clouds, warming Keith’s back, bringing him more comfort. Everything had seemed so light and calm in that moment, until Lance ended his last story and shifted the direction of the conversation.

“Are we going to head out to the new village soon?” His smile was still as bright and wide as it had been as he told his stories. Keith’s heart suddenly lurched and he felt panic wash over him. His hands felt cold and he almost dropped his flower as a result. With all Lance’s stories, Keith had completely forgotten the entire reason he was able to sit in that field with Lance in the first place.

Before he could coherently think about what he was saying, his mouth was already moving, lie already rolling off his tongue. “Yeah, we’ll go soon. Just need to prepare a couple more things.” He muttered. Already he was moving to stand, to get away. Away from what? Even he wasn’t entirely sure. Away from Lance. Away from his lies. Away from the situation. Away from confrontation. Always running away.

He could hear Lance startling and scurrying to his feet. Whether Lance had actually called his name or not, Keith didn’t pay enough attention. Another pair of feet quickly came to match his own but he didn’t turn to look at Lance. Rather, he stared at the flower still in his hands, his feet carrying him back the way he had memorized over the past year he had been living in the forest. The crown on his head suddenly felt heavier as it fell, dangling off one ear.

“Keith, are you alright?” Lance’s voice broke through his focus on his flower.

He narrowed his eyes in guilt. “Yes.” His voice was harder than he had intended but he didn’t lift his gaze. The pair walked back to the house and Lance continued to attempt rousing a conversation out of the other boy, but to no avail. Keith could only manage one word answers as his worries clouded his mind and stole his focus.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Lance sat on his bed, knees curled in on himself. His room was pitch black and he stared out into the darkness, the bookshelf coming in and out of focus. The house was silent and somehow felt colder than normal, but maybe it was because of the new clothes than Keith had given him before rushing off to bed himself.

Keith. Why was he acting so weird? He was beginning to notice a pattern. Every time his family was brought up, Keith got quiet. Was he hiding something? Maybe he just didn’t want Lance to leave? It must be lonely in the woods. Lance really wasn’t sure what to think anymore. But, Keith had said they would go soon. That offered at least some relief. To an extent.

Sleep seemed like a welcoming option at that point but his concerned and anxious thoughts were too busy plaguing his mind. He sighed. As he was about to pull the blanket back a bit, crawl under and hope to let his fatigue claim him for the night, he heard a small noise. It sounded like the squeaking of a door. His ears strained to pick up on anymore minuscule sounds. A couple seconds passed and he began to hear very soft, sneaking footsteps creak along the floorboards, down the hall. They passed outside his room, slowing immensely at his door, but they didn’t stop. He tensed and shifted his eyes to the door, expecting Keith, or maybe an intruder, to bust into his room. But that didn’t happen. The footsteps continued on. Shifting could be heard from what Lance could only guess was Keith’s coat. A jangling sound. Keith’s sword holster being lifted. The sound of wood creaking. The front door being opened, he was sure. The noise repeated as the door was closed. And it all stopped.

Lance sat there in silence as his heartbeat slowed to a normal pace. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Where was Keith going again? This was the second time Keith had left to go brave the dark forest alone. Lance hadn’t tried to stop him this time, nor did he plan on questioning him once he returned, but it still bothered him.

_Maybe he just needs some time alone…?_ He thought, trying uselessly to conjure up a reason. It sounded unconvincing even in his mind and he sighed to himself in resignation. He shifted around under the covers and closed his eyes. As his thoughts drifted into unconsciousness, he vaguely thought of Keith’s small smile back in the field and hoped he could really trust it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tHe OnLy PlAcE tHaT hEaThEr'S aNd MaRtHa'S cAn GeT aLoNg iS IN HEAVEN


	7. Apple of My Pie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, sorry this thing is a little bit later in the day than usual, I was attending a funeral. Because of this, I'm far too tired to read through this thing again. So, not as much editing has gone into this one and I apologize for any errors.

A terrible smell. It assaulted his nostrils. Ash? Fire? Smoke. Something burning?

Lance’s eyelids shot open as the thoughts fully registered in his brain. Something burning. Something was burning. There was a fire. He ripped the blankets off him and nearly tumbled out of the bed in his frantic attempt to move. The hazy aftereffects of his unconsciousness still stuck to him and he wobbled off toward the door as quickly as he could with the room spinning. White spots filled his vision from the sudden change in orientation but he ignored it. Flinging the door open, he stared out into the hallway. Black clouds of smoke billowed out across the ceiling and Lance jammed his sleeve to his face. His eyes watered and he hunched over a bit to keep his face out of the smog. From what he could tell, it was coming from the kitchen. Had they left the fire going all night and it lit something? Was Keith awake? Was Keith _alright?_

Rushing as fast as he could while hunched forward, he entered the kitchen. The entire room was clouded over with smoke. Keith was crouched down in front of the fireplace fiddling with something amongst the ashes, his ears back. An overturned bowl lay on the floor with spilled flour surrounding it. A bag and a rolling pin were near the table leg and half an apple was next to the entranceway. Lance’s eyes widened at the disarray of the kitchen and he stepped farther into the room.

Lance moved his sleeve down from his face. “What the hell are you doing?” He asked, incredulously.

Keith whipped around, nearly tumbling into hearth from the sudden sound of Lance’s voice. There was a streak of flour along his forehead and Lance shoved his face back into his arm, half to keep the smoke away and half to stifle his laughter.

“Oh, hey, you’re up.” He sounded completely nonchalant about having set the kitchen ablaze and shifted back to fumble with a metal plate he had placed over the burning logs. “Make yourself useful and go open the door and all the windows.” He suggested, ignoring Lance’s question.

“Uh, yeah, yeah.” Lance shuffled back out to the hallway and opened to the door with one hand as his other hand was being used to filter the air. He stared at the smoke for a moment before wildly waving as much of the smoulder out the door as he could manage, which wasn’t much. After, he searched around the house for all the windows he could find and pulled them up, attempting to push the black air outside at each one, and getting nowhere each time as well. Once he was finished, he headed back to the kitchen in hopes of an explanation from Keith. “Okay, now will you tell me what you think you’re doing burning the house down and making a huge mess?” Accusation clear in his voice.

“I’ll clean it up later.” Keith responded, still ignoring. He stood from his spot at the fireplace holding a sheet pan with a cylindrical mass on it. With Keith no longer squatting near the hearth, Lance could see that he was wearing a cloth apron over his usual suit and Lance smiled to himself. He found it oddly endearing and domestic. As Keith made his way to the kitchen table – which was entirely covered in supplies – he danced around the room, successfully avoiding stepping on anything strewn about the floor. Pushing a bowl and a spoon clear out the way and to the other side of the table with his elbow, he slammed the pan down on the empty spot. Lance followed behind him, disregarding the apron in favour of staring, confused, at the strange lump Keith had pulled from the fire.

They were both silent. Keith had his hands on his hips and Lance glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes, watching the boy’s eyebrows furrow and his eyes squint. He cautiously spoke, hoping Keith might explain what he was looking at. “Um… What is it…?” He grimaced with the words.

“An apple pie.” Keith answered, still staring at the ‘pie’. He sounded resentful towards it. “Well… It’s supposed to be.” Arms shifting from his hips to cross over each other in front of his chest.

“A pie?! That’s not a pie of any kind!” Lance laughed, still unsure with just the sight of it.

Keith twisted around to him, his hands moving to form fists. “Shut up!” He shouted, embarrassed hue pooling in his cheeks. “I followed the recipe!”

“The recipe for what? A portal to hell?” Lance glanced to the batter-covered, open book on the table and sure enough, it displayed an apple pie.

Keith pouted, grumbling. “It’s hard to cook things properly in the fireplace.”

“Yeah, no kidding! It’s darker than your wardrobe.” Lance snickered as Keith glared daggers into him.

“Whatever. I’m throwing it out.” Keith hurried to lift the pan with one hand, moving to throw it back into the fire but Lance frantically pushed it back onto the table.

“Wait!” He yelped.

“What?”

“I want to try it.” Smiling, he picked up a fairly unused spoon from the table and readied it over the ‘pie’.

Keith shifted uncomfortably. “If you want, I guess.”

The spoon pierced the outer layer of burnt crust as Lance plunged his spoon into the ‘pie’. He scooped a piece up and shoved it into his mouth before he could decide this was a bad idea. Lance’s face morphed into an expression of disgust but he swallowed it anyway. It was a struggle not to gag but he managed to force it down. His eyes met Keith’s and he could see Keith’s sharp teeth through his grimace.

“Is it… edible?” Keith leaned toward the ‘pie’.

Lance smirked at Keith and spooned another pile of the burnt disaster out to hold it out to Keith. “It’s bitter, like you!”

Any concern Keith’s expression held was instantly drained away and he stared at Lance, completely exasperated “Haha.” He deadpanned. “Hilarious. Let me throw it out.” He gripped the pan again and turned back to the fireplace.

“This is definitely the worst pie I’ve ever had.” Announced Lance.

Keith hummed and used a wooden spoon from his other hand to scrape the mess into the half-dead fire. “That bad?” There was no sense of disbelief in his tone.

Lance’s laugh rang out like a bell. “Yeah, you really suck at baking.” It was somehow adorable that Keith was so picky about cooking and particular about spices but he couldn’t bake to save his life.

The pan slammed back down on the table and he glared at Lance. “Wow, tell me what you really think, Lance.”

Lance thought back to his mother’s pies and before he could think about it, he was opening his mouth. “You should let me help you next time.”

Keith stared at him silently for a moment then raised a single eyebrow. “Is it going to be anything like when we made salad?”

That was not the reaction Lance was expecting and he was, honestly, mildly offended. If wasn’t like he had meant to cut Keith’s hand! “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, suddenly nervous. His eyes quickly shifted to Keith’s hand, still bandaged but covered in flour. Did Keith no longer want to be around him in the kitchen because of the incident? He said it was fine but was that just common curtesy? Lance knew he could be clumsy but he wasn’t usually harmful.

Keith smirked. “Are you going to accuse me of suggestive baking things?”

Lance’s eyes widened as he understood what the other was referring to. “No!” He spoke too loudly. His face suddenly felt hot. “I’m going to teach you to bake properly!” Keith wasn’t even thinking of his hand. It relieved Lance’s anxiety instantly. He awkwardly glanced around the room at the state of the kitchen. “But… not with this mess…” He muttered.

Keith sighed. “Yeah, we should clean up.”

“We?”

Eyes narrowed, Keith glared back at him, menacingly. “Let me rephrase; you’ll help me clean up or you won’t have any food today.”

“This is why you lived alone, Mullet. You’re a cruel host.” His voice lilted with amusement as he began collecting cups from the table and carrying them to the sink. Keith followed suit with the bowls. The pair worked together as Lance washed the dishes and Keith swept the floor and wiped the table.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Keith placed the last cup on the shelf and stood back to admire their work. The kitchen appeared as though it had never been an explosion of baking supplies. Lance stood at the other end of the room, lingering near the entrance. He shifted from foot to foot and Keith stared at him, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Would you mind if I borrowed your sword…?” Lance asked, slightly unsure.

“What for?” He began untying the knot at the back of his apron.

Lance stared up at him, suddenly determined. “I want to get better at my fighting skills.” He nodded.

It surprised Keith that Lance had taken that seriously. During their first – and only – lesson, Keith had gotten the impression that it was all a joke to Lance. He felt prideful to know that Lance was gaining something from Keith’s teachings, especially since Keith had never taught anyone anything before. “Yeah, go loose.” He gave a quirked smile at Lance, who smiled back then hurried into the hall. Clanking sounds were heard as Lance, presumably, lifted the sword off the hook and rushed out the door.

Keith let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was even holding and his shoulders hunched inwards. He stared around the kitchen again, empty now. It was a good plan he had made, and it had seemed to work. That sad undertone Lance had spoken about his family with during their flower crown craft time was gone. It was replaced with genuine, loud laughter and snarky comments that held an air of endearment. But Keith knew he could only fuck up a pie so many times before Lance stopped being cheered up by it. He would also start to notice what Keith was doing eventually. It worked this time. But it wouldn’t work next time. He didn’t have another plan.

All he could do was to follow the lead of the Galra curse and hope he could get somewhere with that. It was the most beneficial, after all. For him, for Lance, and for Keith’s brother. Even for the entire kingdom of people being mercilessly killed. He removed the apron from his neck to toss it on the table and headed back to his room, which was still locked. Once settled back down at his desk, he began flipping through the journal again in hopes of finding something new this time.

He reached the last page he had left off on, he picked up on the next paragraph. As usual, the journal contained nothing but long, drawn out explanations on Galran behaviour and personal experiences around the curse. Not that that was _boring,_ per se, but it wasn’t useful and therefore, Keith didn’t bother to read it too carefully. Pages and pages. He continued to flip some more. Whoever this Allura was, they really needed to learn how to make an index.

Finally, he stopped. Halfway through the first sentence of the page, he realized it was about the progression of the curse. That caught his eye, especially since he didn’t know there was more to the curse past being purple and contagious. He reread the first sentence again and continued along, fully paying attention this time.

It explained in detail things that Keith had never known. The curse didn’t stop with the physical transformation, there was a mental and emotional transformation to it as well. Apparently, as soon as one was touched, it was already rooting itself in their heart and in their mind. The curse would feed off the negative emotions of the host. Using the hatred and anger of them to grow further and to transform the physical body. As much as the curse fed off the negative, it also fed the negative. The symbiotic relationship caused the humanity and coherent thought to be taken from them. It could be stopped though, or at the very least, slowed down until you almost wouldn’t notice a difference in personality. The cure was humanity. To have positive emotions and thoughts that kept them grounded, that was what kept the curse’s mental take-over at bay.

Keith felt his mouth go dry. He had had run ins with other cursed Galrans amongst the woods before, and he had seen, first hand, the lack of understanding or recognition in their eyes. It had chilled him to the bone but he had always figured it was due to losing everything they had; their Altean form, their home, their family, their friends. It only made sense they would go off the deep end. So he had never approached them or attempted to interact with them. But, he could never imagine that it was the curse, stripping them of their minds.

Why had he never spiralled downhill, farther away from his humanity? Or… had he already started to and he just hadn’t noticed…

That thought was jarring.

Although, he did have things to keep him focused; his goals. Becoming an Altean again was another important aspect of his life that he hadn’t yet given up on. He had been working non-stop to find his brother and be reunited with him. The only family Keith had was his brother, so to have him ripped from his life so quickly had cut Keith deeply. He would give up his life before he would give up on a chance to have his brother back again. Those things were enough to stall the transformation, weren’t they?

Keith was a monster. He knew he was a monster before, but to have it laid out in front of him so blatantly that he was on the verge of becoming an animal, it was a punch to the gut. It wasn’t something that could easily be skirted around, especially with his giant ears, his sharpened teeth, his glowing, yellow eyes, his pointed, black claws, and of course, his purple tinted skin. It was one thing to look like a beast though, and an entirely different thing to _be_ a beast. He didn’t deserve anything. Even when he was an Altean he had been anti-social and generally unresponsive towards others. Being a monster only put his inside on the outside and it proved what Keith already knew; he didn’t deserve any form of love. If the curse fed on negative emotions, then Keith’s mind was a buffet. All he had was negative emotions. Anger. Hatred. Rage. Vengeance. Regret. He couldn’t think of a single positive emotion. How had he not been overcome by the curse? 

His mind recalled Lance; weaving flower crowns in a field, laughing freely and boisterously, baking pies that weren’t burnt, making cocky expressions only to be shown up when presented with a sword fight. Lance was another reason he was able to keep his sanity with him. The trust Lance placed in him was absurd and it pained Keith’s heart every time he was reminded of it. Lance, he realized, was probably a huge reason Keith wasn’t at the final stages of the curse. He could think of some positive emotions connected to Lance. Happiness. Careful. Excited. Hopeful. Refreshed. Lance was a beacon of light in Keith’s dreary life and if there was one thing Keith was absolutely sure of; he wanted Lance to be happy again. And he wanted him to see his family again. Keith would do anything to fulfill that wish, too.

Maybe that was what kept Keith’s humanity in place.

Keith continued to read the journal.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

He stared out of the window into the night, watching the raindrops plop onto the cobblestone path. They collected in between the stones, creating little puddles along the trail. Sighing, he moved away from the window to grab a ladle from a kitchen drawer. The pot over the fire hadn’t been there long, but he didn’t like the water to be too hot or else it would burn his tongue. Scooping the ladle in, he filled the mug next to him with hot water. It wasn’t boiling, but it was hot. Perfect.

Once he had collected the drink, he settled back down into the chair next to the window and continued to watch the rain tumble down over the roofs of the other houses. All empty houses. He took a small sip from the cup, gauging the temperature. It was a little bit too hot, but not enough that he really cared. He sipped again.

The steam floated up from the drink and caressed his face. It felt soft, clearing his skin as well as his mind. He sighed again, content. A small smile found its way along his face and he swiped the white fluff of hair atop his head out of the way so it didn’t fall into his water. His bat-like ears twitched in pleasure at the warmth the mug spread throughout his arms, heating him up.

He hadn’t been outside long, but it was along enough for the rain to catch him, even briefly. It didn’t rain a lot in the abandoned village but whenever it did rain, it reminded him of when he was much younger and he would sit alongside his brother, waiting for the thunder and lightning. Most kids were afraid of the loud sounds and the sudden flash of light, but his brother never was. The younger boy would sit on the back of the couch – which their parents hated – and stare out into the sky, anticipating. Being the bigger of the two, he would just rest his arms along the back instead of sitting on it, that way he wouldn’t damage the couch.

When the lightning finally did come, they would start counting, alternating between numbers. He would always get the even numbers while his brother got the odd. Then the thunder would sound and his brother would shout “Boom!” and tumble backwards into the couch cushions.

They were older though. They didn’t do that anymore. They didn’t do anything together anymore, not since his explement from Altea.

Keith. He hoped the boy was alright, even if he couldn’t be there. Maybe he finally joined the Royal Altean Knights? Maybe he was a gardener? He always had a thing for plants. Maybe he took up wood carving like their father, or clothmaking like their mother? Had he taken up something entirely different? What if he had found new interests? Had Keith found someone? Did he still live in their house, or had he moved? Maybe he moved in with the someone he may or may not have.

It was all overwhelming, to imagine his brother moving on without him. Of course, one day Keith would have moved on, whether he was there or not, but he would have liked to see his brother grow up.

_I wonder if he thinks I’m dead?_ He mused to himself. It was a bitter thought, but he wouldn’t deem it entirely implausible. Keith was quite independent and headstrong, he didn’t need his older brother hovering over him all the time like some kind of hack replacement of their mother, so he would get on just fine.

He took another sip of his water and focused back on the rain.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Lance shuffled through the door quietly as he could. The sword was covered in its sheath around his torso and he removed it before hanging it up on the hook by the front entrance. He had spent the entire day out in the woods practicing his sword skills, thinking of Keith the whole time. What would he do? How would he fight? Would he be impressed with Lance’s improvement? Lance liked to believe so.

Sword fighting was extremely tiring but Lance was sure he could go for another couple hours – with minimal breaks here and there since he wasn’t exactly the most athletic guy out there – and he would have continued to train if the sky hadn’t darkened and clouded over, releasing a hard downpour. As much as Lance loved the rain, he didn’t fancy the idea of being lost in the woods, drenched and alone. He shook his arms out and winced when he realized he had sprayed the walls with rain water.

Silence filled the house and Lance once again wondered if Keith was home at all. Most likely, Keith would be locked up in his room instead of outside in the rain, but maybe Keith enjoyed the rain. Would that be another Galra thing? No matter.

Lance quietly stepped down the hall, peering into the kitchen on his way by to make sure he didn’t miss Keith, but he wasn’t there either. He reached the door at the end of the hall. Up to this point, Lance had never really been this close to Keith’s room, especially not without Keith present. The door seemed much more wore than the door to his own room and it had a lock as well. He debated knocking on the door but something stopped him. Instead, he gingerly pressed his ear to the door, listening. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had been expecting to happen, but it certainly wasn’t the door suddenly being opened. Nearly tumbling to the floor of the room, he stumbled and swiftly caught himself, then hopped back into the hallway. Keith leveled him with an unimpressed glare, his hand still grasping the doorknob. Awkwardly laughing, Lance rubbed the back of his neck and lowered his gaze to the ground.

“Hey, I was just– I wasn’t– I’m done training and it’s raining and I was wondering if you were there or not.” He rambled, his mouth vomiting up whatever his mind created.

“So, you were sneaking around outside my door?” Keith raised an eyebrow.

He tensed and huffed. “I wasn’t _sneaking!_ I was just checking!” Lance crossed his arms over his chest. “And you were there so I got my answer and that’s all I needed. Carry on, Mr. Can’t Bake A Pie.” Flicking his hand at Keith, he began heading back down the hallway to his room.

Keith sighed behind him and stuck his head out of his room. “I’ll be out in a moment and we’ll make dinner, okay? Mr. Salad Suggestion.” He muttered the last part under his breath but Lance heard it and whipped around to glare at him, face bright red.

“Sure, whatever!” It came out more flustered than irritated and he rushed into his room. Keith let him go. Once alone, Lance began to wonder what it was that Keith even spent his time doing in there all the time. He’d have to ask sometime but Keith seemed hesitant about his room. Keith was hesitant and closed off about everything, but especially his room. Did it have something to do with Keith’s constant disappearances in the night? He once again wondered if Keith was hiding something that Lance should know about.

He gazed sadly out the window of his bedroom, watching the rain beat down on the grass outside. Lance loved rain. The warmth of the summer rain was his favourite. It reminded him of nights when he would stand in the garden with his arms outstretched and prickling with the feeling of fresh rain hitting them. Every time his mother became aware of what he was doing, she would always come rushing out and cover him with a blanket before ushering him back inside. He loved water in general, but something about it falling from the sky made him feel refreshed and free. Rain was a great source of comfort for him, especially when it was nearing night and he could feel it on his skin. Comfort was something he greatly needed right then. Keith had said they’d make dinner in awhile, right? How long was awhile? Keith could spend an entire week in his room and never even notice so Lance figured he had time. He would be quick anyway.

Hurrying from his room again, he made his way to the closet at the end of the hall where he had found the first aid kit before. Inside was an umbrella, he had seen it. Grabbing it, he resisted the urge to open it while he was still in the house and clambered out the door, being sure to close it behind him.

After gently shutting it, he fumbled with the umbrella a bit before popping it open and holding it above his head. Lance felt more alive already. Sure, it was getting dark and a little chilly without any sort of protection from the temperature aside from his thin, long-sleeved shirt, but that didn’t stunt Lance’s enjoyment. He carefully avoided puddles along the trail as he strolled. Adjusting to the cold, he stuck and arm out in front of him to feel the pattering of the rain along his skin. A feeling of ease washed over him and he smiled softly to himself.

His thoughts drifted through the events of the last few days he had spent in the woods. Obviously, he missed his family and wanted to be reunited with them as soon as possible, but he also found himself slowly growing attached to Keith. He just wished Keith wasn’t so secretive. Hadn’t they bonded? Lance sighed. Keith didn’t mean him harm, Lance was sure, he could feel it in his heart. That didn’t quell his slight unease with every suspicious thing Keith did. He found himself wanting to know more about Keith. The guy could cook and season like there was no tomorrow, but baking? Absolutely a no-go. How strange. Speaking of cooking and baking, Lance suddenly returned from his thoughts, recalling Keith’s mention of dinner. Perhaps he should hustle it back to the house before Keith noticed he was ever gone. He didn’t need a lecture from Keith about the dangers of the forest at night or the possibility of getting sick in the rain.

The closed umbrella rested at his side. He glanced up from where he had been waving his arm about in the rain. Nothing was recognizable. When had he gotten so far from the cabin? Scanning his surroundings again, he realized that he had wandered a lot farther than he had initially thought. Panic setting in, he turned around and headed in what he figured was the right way. He hadn’t thought to bring a lantern with him since he hadn’t planned on being out long enough for the sun to leave the sky entirely, nor had he thought he would travel so far. His footsteps picked up. Suddenly, a glint caught his eye and he turned to investigate what it was. Upon seeing what it was, his heart stopped. There, a slight way into the woods, were four heavily-armoured men. They were heading farther from the trail and urgency surged within Lance. He recognized their helmets; they were part of the Royal Altean Knights. But what were they doing out so far from the castle?

Before they could move much farther, Lance hurriedly shouted. “Hey!” Hoping to get their attention. Maybe they could direct him to the new village or, at the very least, tell him the state of it.

They all startled, spinning around quickly. Two of the soldiers, who had been carrying a long package wrapped in cloth, dropped the object upon hearing Lance yell. It tumbled from their hands and rolled in front of them, the cloth falling away. Even in the darkness, Lance could make out the clear figure of an Altean body, laying motionless at their feet, and his stomach dropped. A cold sweat raked his body and his feet felt planted in the dirt. His throat was suddenly dry.

They all stared at him, silently. Lance couldn’t make out their faces behind the helmets, but he was sure they weren’t faces of welcome. One knight swiftly pulled a bow from his back along with an arrow, lining it up, aimed directly at Lance. All his senses returned to him in a rush and he kicked off, dashing into the woods on the opposite side of the road. His legs kept moving. Faster. Fast as he could make them go. Bobbing and weaving. Twisting and turning. Tears streaking his cheeks. Legs aching. As he booked it, weaving amongst the trees, he dared not to look back. Panic surged through him again, full force. He could hear his heart practically vibrating in his ears and he was sure it was loud enough to give away his location. His eyes squinted, attempting to take in his surroundings as fast as possible in the darkness. Behind him, he could hear shouting. Suddenly, an arrow shot past him, impaling the trunk of a tree on his right. He choked, a startled yelp pushing from his throat. Hot tears stung his eyes, making it more difficult to see. Arrows pierced bark all around him and he knew it was only a matter of time before one of them hit its target. He couldn’t keep running forever and he had no idea where he even was.

Darkness flooded the forest and before he could even process what was happening, he was on the ground. His leg throbbed painfully from the root of a tree he had caught himself on. The silver armour in the distance approached him rapidly. Lance pushed his hands into the dirt, attempting to stand. He tripped again. Yelling. Pain shooting through his ankle. His knees stung as he crawled as hastily as he could manage. Eyes almost entirely watered over. His umbrella forgotten in the underbrush. Drenched clothes clung to his body, weighing him down farther. Voices, louder.

This was it. Lance was sure he was going to die there. Maybe the rain wasn’t so calming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I truly believe that if Keith had a favourite flavour, it would be strawberry. I think Keith is a strawberry boy. Like, for milkshakes and ice cream and stuff. Maybe I'm biased because I'm a strawberry kid?? I don't know. This was a shower thought.


	8. The Habits of a Pluviophile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever write so much that you can only think in the same way you write for awhile?

Heart pounding, Lance twisted around. Darkness surrounded him, but it didn’t do anything to block out the approaching figures. Heavy footfall. Bows drawn, they aimed. More yelling. His vision wavered from his tears. Pain stung his ankle as he began struggling backwards. His hand slipped in some mud and his back hit the ground. Adrenaline pumping. Screaming could be heard and Lance was vaguely aware it was being torn from his own throat. His back slammed into the trunk of a tree. Time slowed as one knight’s bow was drawn back. The arrow head lined up directly with Lance’s face.

Lance clenched his eyes shut. His face scrunched up. He braced.

Clashing. Loud ringing through the forest.

His eyes shot open, still laced with tears. The arrow never reached Lance, instead colliding with the metal of an outstretched sword. A black jacket billowed out from the figure above him, blocking out the royal guards. Lance stared up through the darkness at the back of the man’s head, frozen in disbelief. He expertly maneuvered his arm, blocking the arrows.

A low growl emitted from the swordsman and he threateningly stomped forward in defiance. The guards called to each other but Lance was too confused, everything was happening too fast, and he couldn’t make out the individual words. Armour clinked and bow strings sounded from being released.

Before Lance even had the time to process what was really happening, the person with the sword was ducking down, reaching for the forgotten umbrella dropped in the mud. He rapidly stared back at Lance, his eyes glowing a dangerous yellow. Keith.

The umbrella handle was hooked around his elbow and Keith yanked upwards, roughly forcing Lance to his feet. Mud suctioned around Lance’s feet but he was jabbed in the back with the umbrella again, shoving his away from the guards. Lance’s ankle throbbed painfully and he stumbled. His leg gave out under him. A startled yelp left him but the bar of the umbrella halted his descent as Keith caught him. The knights advanced on them faster. The umbrella an extension of Keith’s arm, he used it as a make-shift crutch to help Lance as he hobbled along, still fending off the arrows. Gripping the umbrella, Lance coerced himself to run. He forced his legs to support his weight and ignored the searing pain. Keith darted through the woods, never missing a single step with the help of his illuminating eyes. He pushed and pulled Lance’s support system, guiding him through the obstacle course of trees. Lance could hear the slapping of the guard’s feet in the mud as they ran after them.

The sting of his ankle slowly increased, spreading up his leg as he strained the injury. He let out a hiss of pain in between his panting. Any second he felt as though he might throw up. His chest ached. His lungs burned. His heart hammered. Quickly, he chanced a glance at Keith. The other boy’s bangs were laid flat on his forehead as a result of his speed. Ears back and eyes narrowed. Lance gripped the umbrella tighter, he could feel his leg on the verge of collapse. Panic overtook him and he desperately tried to alert Keith while also aware of the knights behind him, albeit farther back than before. Before Lance could make any indication of his predicament, Keith was already wrenching them around the corner of a large boulder and ripping the umbrella away from Lance’s hands in favour of shoving the handle into his shoulder. His ankle gave out at the sudden change of directions and he didn’t even have time to cry out before he was already tumbling down a miniature embankment hidden behind the giant rock.

Somersaulting to a halt, he gazed, wide eyed, at his surroundings. It was too dark and he couldn’t easily make out where he had landed but Keith launched himself over the drop off, umbrella in one hand, sword in the other. As he landed, he dropped the items. Lance watched as Keith ripped his trench coat off and flung the back half over Lance’s curled body, the top covering Keith himself. They were precariously close to making physical contact while huddled under the coat. Lance could feel Keith’s breath ghost over his cheek and he shivered. Ferocious glowing eyes bore into him and the light they provided allowed for Lance to make out every mark of rain and dirt smudged along Keith’s face. His heart pounded and he was about to say, well, he wasn’t sure what, but something, _anything._ Noise stopped him though. Fear surged through his body as he heard the rapidly approaching footsteps beside them on the other side of the boulder.

“Don’t move.” Keith’s soft, determined whisper puffed air across Lance’s face again and Keith closed his eyes, cutting off their light source. The yelling increased in volume. With his vision entirely blacked out, his other senses increased as he was forced to rely on them. The course fabric of the coat prickling his skin and pressing to his hair. Rain pouring down and voices being projected through the woods. Dirt, rain, sweat, and a mixture of other indistinguishable smells. He could taste blood on his lips and he flicked his tongue out to swipe over the split in his skin. Tears were mixed in with it.

“Where did they go? They were just here!” One of the royal knights questioned. The footsteps had slowed and were joined by the shuffling of underbrush. Lance let his eyes close too since he could see only black anyway, a tear escaping his eyelid and rolling a path across his face. He held his breath.

“They may still be nearby.” Another called, closer than the first.

More shuffling. “Be careful!”

“Yes, sir.”

A footstep passed right above Keith’s head right beside the boulder. Without his noticing, his body began to lightly shake. “Stubborn little creatures.” A whispered voice hissed. Lance’s breath caught in his throat and he could feel Keith blow carefully on his cheek. He could only take it as a desperate attempt to calm him as there wasn’t much else Keith could do in that moment. It did calm him though, knowing Keith was there. He forced his breath to even out silently.

“We must _destroy_ them.” Someone cursed. Lance clenched his teeth to muffle a sob and furrowed his eyebrows in fear. Why was this happening? Why were they trying to kill him and Keith? They were from the kingdom, weren’t they? Their job was to protect the Altea people, so why were they aiming their bows at him with such emotionless precision? Disbelief rushed through his head and he almost refused to believe this was happening at all.

A plant was pushed in upon itself and he was brought back to reality. “Ah…” An uncertain noise. “Sir? Do we really have to _kill_ the one kid? We don’t know for certain that he’s cursed.” Lance could tell they were referring to him. It wasn’t exactly a secret to him that they were nearly murdered, but having the killers lay out their intentions so calmly churned Lance’s stomach. “And either way, he has no means of entering Altea. Would it be so unreasonable to ignore him and simply kill the other thing? I don’t see why we would hunt down the Altean one–” Anger and fear flared in his chest. Who were they to decide who would be killed and for what reason. And to call Keith a ‘thing’ as if he weren’t a living being like them. Keith was the sweetest person he had ever met outside his own family, even if he was pretty rough around the edges. He had just risked his own life to protect Lance and was still doing so. With his busted ankle, Lance was deadweight and he knew it. But Keith hadn’t left him. Keith was _not_ a ‘thing’. And these– these _monsters,_ they had no right to do this.

“Are you trying to defend that _thing?”_ The rage increased within Lance. Not only were they dehumanizing Keith, but this guy had the nerve to treat the both of them as if they were nothing but dirt. A bother in that guy’s life.  And what was worse was how aware Lance was that all the guards had to do was glance over the ledge of the embankment a little and that would be it. He would never see his family again. They would continue on, never having known if he was alive or not. Suddenly a thought occurred to him. Was this why Keith was so avoidant on the topic of going to see his family in the village? Was he afraid of this happening? Lance recalled the body he had seen being dumped moments ago. It felt like hours, a distant memory, as if it had happened to someone else, not him. That would be Keith’s and his own fate. Bodies in cloth. Dull throbbing in his ankle reminded him that he would have no way to run from his doom and he began to shake again, a sickly coldness cascading over his body.

What sounded like armour being rattled was heard and Lance could guess that one of the guards was physically threatening another. The same angered voice began shouting. “It lives outside the kingdom, that means it’s an outsider. It’s a Galran. _All_ Galran’s are cursed beasts. They may look like people, but they’re _beasts._ It’s our duty to protect the citizens of Altea. Any possible trace of the curse, no matter how small, must be _eradicated.”_ There was silence for a moment. Lance was practically vibrating with anger and fear. He could feel hot tears slowly dripping down his face. He had half a mind to shoot out from his hiding place and give them a reason to run back to the kingdom crying. Another gentle gust of air was blown onto Lance’s face, an attempt to calm him. It worked, to an extent, and he took the time to fully think about why his plan was a bad idea. He evened his breath out again, vaguely aware that Keith could feel it.

The footsteps started up again, heading in another direction. “We’ll split up and search for them. You go that way.”

“Yes, sir!” The other three answered in unison.

“We must protect ourselves from the curse. This is the _only_ way.” The leader muttered again.

Their muddied steps hurried off into the distance until the pair were surrounded by the tapping of the rain through the trees. They crouched in the tiny cubby hole of dirt for what felt like forever, just listening. Slowly, Lance opened his eyes once he was confident his tears had stopped. Keith’s glowing eyes were focused on him again and Lance inhaled sharply, barely a hair’s breadth away from the Galran boy. Even without discernible details within his eyes aside from his yellow sclera, Lance could see the concern and worry there, especially from their close proximity. Neither of them moved though. They continued to listen for another measure of time until Keith broke it.

“Are you okay?” Keith’s voice was low and unsteady. It startled Lance to hear him anything but confident and sure. The air from Keith’s words tickled his nose.

He barely nodded. “Yeah.” Lance breathed back.

Both stayed where they were; Keith crouched, his hands fisted in his coat, Lance sat in the mud, his knees curled up into his chest.

“M’sorry.” Keith murmured.

Lance squinted at him, confused. “What for?” He reached his hands up to his face precariously to swipe his tears away.

“Shoving you in a ditch.” He answered, completely serious.

Huffing a laugh – which was almost a sigh – into Keith’s face, he smiled minimally. “I forgive you.” Lance listened to Keith relieve a breath.

Rain could be heard around them and Keith carefully removed his jacket from overtop the both of them. Cautious not to touch Lance, he snaked the fabric around Lance’s back. He tugged it into place, then dropped his arms. Slowly, he rose from his hunched position and peered over the short ledge. Lance watched him for a moment, his ears shifting and alert, then quietly slipped his arms into the sleeves and wrapped it tighter around himself. Droplets of water littered through Keith’s hair as he peeked around and his ears twitched at the feeling of the drops. Keith turned back to the ground and picked up his sword and the damaged umbrella. The umbrella was extended toward Lance and he blinked in response for a moment before gripping it and heaving himself up with Keith’s help. Pain radiated through his ankle again and he winced.

“Your ankle.” Keith stated, with an undertone of concern. His head was tilted downward and Lance could only guess his eyes were trained on his leg.

Lance dared to stare down too, shifting the borrowed coat aside, and instantly wished he hadn’t. There was very noticeable swelling in his ankle. Purple and blue splotches spread outward, infecting his flesh with it’s sickening hue. Lance winced again from the sight alone, even from the limited light Keith’s eyes offered.

“C’mon. We need to wrap that up and get you out of the rain.” His voice was tired but relieved. “What were you doing out here?” Suddenly, there was a slight heat to his tone. Keith shifted the umbrella so that it barred across Lance’s chest to catch him in the event he fell.

“I like the rain.” Normally he would have made a joke, or a pun, but he had never felt so drained in his life. He had never been so close to death as he was in that moment with the arrow aimed at his face, and he was still unsure of why this all happened. The pair hobbled out from behind the boulder and parallel along the embankment until it evened out. Keith guided Lance through the woods, hurrying them back to the house while trying to be slow enough for Lance to keep up. Their feet squelched in the overwatered grass and slick leaves stuck to their shoes. Lance sniffed; his nose stung from the intense smell of the precipitation.

“You can feel the rain from right outside the house, too.” Keith grunted.

Lance glanced around, half checking for the monstrous knights and half attempting to navigate where they were. His eyes drooped, feeling very red and puffy from his crying. “I got distracted.” He turned back to Keith, still holding him up with the umbrella, his eyebrows furrowed and staring into the distance. Due to his jacket being used by Lance, Keith was covered only by his button up shirt and vest with his black pants. His clothes were pelted with raindrop spots and his hair was flat and dripping on his shirt, drenching it further. The fur on his ears was slicked down and he looked exactly like a wet cat. Guilt flooded Lance at the sight. He unconsciously snuggled farther into the jacket with renewed gratitude and continued limping.

Barely a whisper, barely audible over the pounding of the rain, Keith mumbled. “At least you’re okay.” Something stuttered in Lance’s heart at the soft tone with which the words were spoken. His entire body felt numb with the realization that he had very nearly died, and Keith seemed just as shaken about the entire ordeal. He felt another tear trickle down his cheek and he subtly pushed his face into the collar of the coat. It smelled like Keith.

The trip back to the house didn’t feel long at all, but that might have been because Lance had slowly disconnected himself from the event and was so focussed on convincing himself that it had never even happened that he hadn’t noticed when they arrived at the house. Keith opened the front door and vigilantly led Lance through the door, still propped up with the umbrella. Pausing at the hook on the wall beside the door, Keith slid his sword into the sheath, which he had left behind in his apparent haste to find Lance. He also raised each foot to individually tug the laces of his boots open before kicking his muddy shoes off, swiping them to the side of the hall with his foot. They made their way down the hall of the dark house. Everything was silent and distant, the same vibe his village had given off when he first discovered it empty. Only, this time he had Keith, who was guiding Lance to his room. Lance vaguely wondered about dinner but didn’t protest as he wasn’t very hungry after the night he had had.

Keith brushed the door open and helped Lance lower himself onto the bed with the jacket splayed out across the covers behind him. It was too dark to see the room with just Keith’s glowing eyes, prompting him to retreat back to the kitchen to retrieve a lantern. As he entered the room, Lance could see his muddy, dragging footprints marking the hardwood floor, clearly illuminated while Keith approached him.

“I ruined your floor…” Lance remarked, dejectedly.

Keith hesitated and scanned the mud tracked into his house, then moved to place the lantern on the desk. The soft glow of the flame cast shadows across Keith’s features. “It’ll come out.” He answered, his voice low, and Lance gave no response.

Lance watched Keith leave again. He sighed. His entire body felt heavy and weighed down. The blanket under his hands felt warm and he wished for nothing more than to curl up underneath it and forget this night ever happened, he wished to wake up back in his bed at home with his family downstairs waiting for him, he wished he hadn’t caused so much trouble for Keith and they could have just made dinner like they had planned. His fingers pushed into the blanket and he squeezed. Fatigue overtook him and he stared out the window, into the darkness. It felt as though he had left his universe and entered an alternate one where everything was much darker, quieter, and overall, more intimate.

The door was urged open again and Lance was brought back from his thoughts to see Keith carrying the first aid kit in his arms with a clean pair of pants and shirt on top of the box. He placed them on the desk next to the glowing lantern and he picked the clothes off the kit, placing them next to it. “Take off your boots.” Keith ordered, opening the box. He rummaged through the kit again then left the room without checking to see if Lance was doing as he asked. Lance leaned over his knees and undid the laces, slowly sliding them off his feet, pausing to wince as the one boot scraped across his swollen ankle. Once they were off, he dumped them onto the floor next to his spot on the bed.

Returning to the room, Keith was then holding a dripping washcloth and a tea towel tied up in a makeshift ice pack. Moving both to one hand and lifting the opened box from the table to carry it over toward Lance, he placed it on the floor at Lance’s feet. Reaching over and picking the clothes off the desk as well, he turned back and set them on the bed beside Lance. He stared at Lance for a moment before gingerly pushing the cloth forward. His hand stalled next to Lance’s face, watching him carefully. Lance glanced from Keith’s hand to his face, then nodded subtly. As the wet fabric pressed to his skin, Lance held back his urge to flinch at the cold contact. He couldn’t feel Keith’s hand through the cloth and could only presume that Keith doing everything in his power to keep from touching him, even with the barrier between them. The gesture made Lance smile to himself and Keith methodically swiped the washcloth over his muddy and tear streaked face, taking with it all the weight of the day. Lance sighed shortly which caused Keith to pause before picking up where he had left off.

Once he was finished, he removed the cloth’s contact and heaved a relieved sigh. Lance couldn’t help but miss the attention. Having come from a big family, Lance was very affectionate, and living isolated and away with the only other person being literally untouchable, Lance began to wonder if he was touch starved the way Keith was. The touch had felt comforting even if he couldn’t feel Keith’s hand but he wasn’t sure if that was because it was Keith in such a close proximity or because the cloth cleansed his face. Probably both, he reasoned.

After his face was cleaned and damp, Keith pointed a claw to the shirt and pants next to Lance. “Your shirt is covered in dirt. Change.” With that, he kneeled in front of the taller boy. “Roll up your pant leg.” He didn’t look up from where he was shuffling things around in the first aid kit, removing bandages and various clips. Lance studied his movements for a moment before grasping the fabric of his pants and gently gliding them up his leg to his knee, clenching his teeth when it briefly brushed across his injury. After folding it around his knee, he shrugged Keith’s jacket off and draped it over the bedframe then grabbed his shirt by the collar to pull it over his head without it touching his newly cleaned face. He let the shirt drop to the floor in a heap then replaced it with the new shirt. It smelled fresh and the soft cloth felt practically luxurious against his skin so he snuggled into it subtly.

By this time, Keith was getting ready to place the icepack on his swollen, purple ankle. Lance flinched slightly without meaning to from the thought of his foot being touched and Keith paused to stare up at him in concern.

“I’m just going to freeze it. It’ll sting but it’s going to bring the swelling down, okay?” Lance had never heard Keith sound so gentle and reassuring, and it spread warmth through Lance’s chest. He nodded instinctively, placing his complete trust in Keith with not only the injury, but also the curse.

Keith nodded back and deliberately pressed the icepack to the bruised bump. A hiss was forced from Lance’s mouth and Keith instantly ripped the pack away. “No, no, I’m fine. Try again.” He assured, bracing himself.

Without responding, Keith added the icepack once again and Lance held back his reaction. His fingers clamped around the blankets at his side. The icepack was slid along the bulge, caressing the discolouration. It began to numb under the chill of the ice and Lance let his fingers relax, deepening his breaths. Keith continued to smooth the welt with the ice and Lance slowly unclenched his body to watch his movements.

“Keith?” He whispered.

A pause. “Yeah?”

“What’s happening?” He had many more specific questions to ask in that moment but he felt that one would be a good start.

Keith muttered back, without looking at Lance. “What do you mean?” His tone suggested he knew exactly what Lance was asking.

A frown grazed Lance’s face as he stared down his knees at Keith’s purple ears. “Keith.”

The icepack was pressed rougher. “What, Lance?”

“Keith, please.” His voice sounded exhausted with an air of desperation.

No answer.

“ _Keith._ ” Lance breathed, his body feeling cold as Keith evaded any explanation.

He pulled the icepack off and sighed, heavy and resigned, then placed the pack on Lance’s leg again. Not once did he make eye contact. The silence stretched on and Lance examined the shadow Keith formed across the hardwood. After a moment, Keith spoke. “Lance. There is no other village.”

Lance’s heart stopped. His eyes widened and he felt the same panic from the woods rise up like ice in his throat again. “What…?” His voice cracked.

“They weren’t moved to another village, they were moved to Altea.” Keith refused to halt his movements or lift his head.

“What’re you talking about?” His blood felt cold and he felt frozen in place. “That’s not– That can’t–”

“ _Listen to me.”_ Keith finally glared up and a twinge of fear surged through Lance at the yellow of his eyes. “Around two weeks ago, the curse spread to the village. I never went near that village, for obvious reasons, so I don’t know how that happened. A Galra probably got too close, or someone went too far into the woods, something. Whatever it was, they needed to quickly evacuate the village to the kingdom. It was an emergency event and if I wasn’t at the edge of the woods at the time, I wouldn’t have noticed, but there was a lot of frantic yelling.” Keith sighed again and returned to icing Lance’s ankle. “I told you they had moved to some village because I knew you would immediately go to Altea if you knew. And if you went to Altea, they would kill you.”

Lance felt dizzy at the knowledge and questions flooded his mind but Keith just continued. “Over the past year or so, I’ve been living in this house, and I’ve seen so many bodies left in the woods from the kingdom. At first it was just Galra, but…” Keith swallowed audibly. “But after awhile they started leaving half transformed Galra and full Alteans. The kingdom is so afraid of the curse that they’re killing people who aren’t even cursed. It’s sick. No one is allowed in and no one is allowed out unless ordered by the King. Emergency evacuations can get in no problem, but you would be killed on sight.”

Heart pounding, Lance licked his lips to ready himself. His voice wavered. “I’m not Galra though, they’re supposed to protect Alteans–” He was cut off.

“They’re supposed to do a lot of things, Lance!” Keith suddenly raised his voice, startling Lance. “They’re supposed to stop the spread of the curse, not kill innocents! The guards are supposed to find ways to _help people,_ but they don’t care about helping! Anyone who wants to help gets left for dead in the woods! The knights don’t care if you’re not Galra, Lance, they don’t give a shit! They will _kill you!”_ Lance was taken aback by Keith’s emotional outburst and the words resonated within him.

A sudden thought occurred to him. “Wait… That blanket across the river… was it…” He didn’t want to finish the question but thankfully Keith knew what he was asking.

“Yes. It was.” He had begun to calm, but his shoulders were still tense and his teeth were still clenched. Lance’s body felt weak, as though it was nothing more than a puddle, his bones becoming useless. Keith finally stopped pressing the icepack to Lance’s leg and he almost missed the cold numbing of it.

“Is my family alive?” Lance almost didn’t want to ask it for fear of the answer.

Like before, Keith hesitated. “I… I don’t know.” His voice was strained. Tears prickled against Lance’s eyes again and images of the rotting meat and the abandoned village returned to his mind. Keith quickly noticed and he instinctively lifted his gloved hand to hover next to Lance’s face as if he wanted to cup his cheek but was aware he couldn’t. “Hey, hey. They probably are, none of the bodies I’ve come across fit the descriptions of your family.” Lance remembered when he had told Keith all about his family in the flower field and Keith’s concern and attentiveness comforted Lance to an extent. “This might not be very reassuring but if they suspect one person of being infected then they… off… the entire family, and I haven’t found a family with more than two kids even, so they _must_ be alive.”

Lance was sickened by the relief he felt at that news but his family was probably alive, most likely alive, had to be alive. His eyes were shut in pain but he slowly opened them, feeling the dampness stick to his eyelashes. When his eyes met Keith’s, staring up at him from his kneeling position on the floor, he felt a rush of emotion; pain, sadness, guilt, relief, pity, empathy, happiness, horror, hopelessness, worry.

He felt anger toward the kingdom in a way that he had never experienced. It was a scathing, smoldering, anger, as if magma that had been hidden underneath the ground was finally breaking through the Earth and seeping across the land.

He felt panic at the knowledge that his family was not guaranteed to be safe but he also felt cool relief to know they were almost certainly alive and even better, in Altea. He had always wanted to travel to Altea and wished that his family could have travelled there, even once. With the new information though, he was suddenly not so sure about the safety of the kingdom. It was still better than dead in the woods and he would take what he could get at that point.

He felt frustration that Keith would keep such a thing from him and lie to him but he understood why. Just as Keith had explained, Lance most likely would have headed straight to Altea, and judging by the events of the night, been murdered on the spot, no hesitation. The fact that Keith was only trying to protect him did ebb the irritation away a bit, but Keith could have just clarified what was really going on. Lance might not have believed him, but at least it wouldn’t have been a lie. A strange desire to protect Keith also overtook him. The boy was clearly upset by the actions of the kingdom and Lance got a strong sense that he was speaking from personal experience and understanding. That thought stung. Lance wanted Keith to stop carrying so much on his shoulders.

“You need to wrap this.” Keith halted Lance’s thoughts, his words were exhausted and he placed a roll of bandage on the bed next to Lance’s hip. Lance stared at the bandage a moment before curiously glancing down at his ankle. The swelling had gone down considerably from the ice which pleasantly surprised Lance, even though it was still numb. He reached for the wrappings and unravelled it, bending over his knees to gently fold it around his skin. It didn’t hurt like it had before, it was more of a dull throb as he spiralled the course coverings. As he did, he quickly glanced over to Keith’s hand and noticed the edges of his bandages peeking out from around his gloves. Vaguely, his mind supplied him with the sickened thought that they were matching now and he almost huffed a laugh.

He continued to wrap his ankle and Keith gave short instruction here and there when Lance didn’t pull it tight enough or didn’t cover one section properly until both were satisfied with the work. Keith dropped a couple clips into Lance’s outstretched hand and verbally guided him as Lance clipped the loose bandage ends into place securely.

Exhaustion began to catch up with Lance more so than before and his vision blurred momentarily. He dropped backwards across the bed, his head falling over the other side of the mattress.

“You hungry?” Keith muttered, packing the first aid kit away.

“No.” Lance responded, sadly.

The box clicked. “You should eat something.”

Lance knew he should, but that didn’t mean he desired to. “I’m tired.” He whispered.

“Can you manage broth?” Keith rose from his spot on the floor and scooped the first aid kit up with him.

“Do I have a choice?” Lance stared at the wall across from him, which was upside down from his vantage point.

The jacket across the bedframe next to Lance’s thigh shifted and was removed. Footsteps sounded through the room. “I’m not going to force you to eat anything. I won’t waste my time if you won’t eat it.” Lance could hear the fatigue in his response and he felt a pang of guilt once again.

He pulled himself up to a sitting position. “No, I’ll eat the broth.” Keith stopped putting everything away and glanced over at Lance, seemingly searching for something. When he didn’t find it, he nodded and left the room with the first aid kit, jacket, and wet cloth. He left the icepack behind on the bed next to Lance, and Lance assumed it was to numb his ankle if need be.

After the boy had left and the door had been shut, Lance sighed again. He resisted the urge to cry as he lifted his body from the bed and lightly pressed his injured foot to the ground to test his pain tolerance. Using the bedframe as a support system to hold him up, he shimmied his pants off and kicked them over to the side with his shirt. Then he set up his new, clean pants and slid them on, balancing on his uninjured foot. Once his clothes were all adjusted, he settled back down on the bed, moving himself backwards until he reached the pillow, which he fluffed up against himself to ease his back. He debated hopping under the covers but once he noticed the icepack again, he decided to continue freezing his swollen ankle.

His mind replayed the night’s events; everything from his near-death to Keith’s confession. None of it even felt as though it had really happened at all and Lance felt sick. He remembered the lifeless body he had watched roll out of the cloth when the knights had dropped it and his skin prickled at the memory. Shuddering, he pressed the icepack harder. His mind thought back to the massive cloth he had seen before and Keith’s anger when he had tried to push the matter, but with his new-found knowledge, he understood Keith’s reaction, empathized with it. How many bodies had been under there? He felt nauseous at the thought and quickly tried to shove it away, but all before he could stop himself, he imagined Keith being one of those bodies, then his family, and more tears welled up in his eyes. The door began to open again and he rapidly blinked the tears back.

If Keith could tell he had been crying – or close to it – he made no comment. Instead, leaving the bowl of broth on the desk nearest to Lance, beside the lantern. “Get some rest.” Keith suggested, then left the room, closing the door behind him again.

Lance picked the bowl off the desk carefully and rested it on his thighs. It was fairly hot, so he blew on it until he deemed it cool enough for consumption. In truth, he didn’t feel like he would be able to eat anything without throwing it back up, but he knew it wasn’t healthy to do as much physical exercise as he had done that day and then sleep without eating. He also needed all the energy he could get if his injured leg was going to heal properly. Keith was worried about his wellbeing too, and that was why he forced the warm broth into his stomach.

It tasted good, that wasn’t a problem. Warming his insides up and extending the heat through his limbs, it almost felt like a comfortable blanket surrounding him. Maybe that was what he needed in that moment, he smiled down at the bowl and blocked all thoughts out, focusing only on his broth. The decision to take everything one step at a time was a natural reaction and he went along with it. Heat spread through his numbed ankle and he revelled in the mixed feelings of temperature.

Once the broth had been cleaned of his bowl, he set the dishes on the desk again and picked the lantern off the wooden surface. He blew a breath over the flame and instantly the room became shrouded in darkness. For a moment, he nearly dropped the light on the floor but after fumbling around, he found the desk.

Careful not to jostle his ankle too much, he curled his legs up to his chest and pushed them under the covers then shuffled his way down the bed. His eyes had begun adjusting to the change in visibility but it didn’t matter much as he was already drifting away into an uneasy sleep, the whole time hoping the guards would not find the little house in the woods.

_A loud crack of thunder woke him and he shot up into a sitting position, trying to catch his breath. He reached for the blankets covering his legs, but there was nothing, only inky black. Frantically, he scanned his surroundings. Nothing was anywhere. Everywhere he looked, only darkness. Pitch black. His hand attempted to grip the sheets at his side, but those, too, were not there. In fact, the entire bed was missing. His heart pounded and fear crawled across his skin. The dark curled around his arms and legs, yanking him upward into a standing position. He struggled against it but the shapeless entity of the darkness forced him along._

_“Keith?” He called. It came out only a whisper, although he had not intended it to._

_“Keith?!” He tried again, this time yelling. Once more, only a whisper escaped his lips._

_Panic flared and he began shrieking anything that came to his mind, but everything was barely audible in the black expanse of nothingness. No one was answering. There was no one to answer. There was nothing._

_Lance reached his hands out in front of him, hoping to feel something, anything. But still, he was alone. The black began encasing him, suffocating him, choking him, holding him, forcing itself around him. He screamed again but it only emerged as another breathy whisper._

_Wide eyes, sweat dripping, adrenaline pumping, heart palpitating. Lance ripped his legs out from the dark’s grasp. He didn’t even have time to contemplate the lack of his injury before he was racing away. There was no way to tell where he was heading, everything looked the same, but he didn’t stop, nor did he slow. He only forced himself to speed up. Still attempting his hopeless yelling, he raced onward._

_There was no point trying to outrun the darkness, it had surrounded him and he would get nowhere. Finally, he was forced to stop by his own body’s limits and he heaved a breath. The darkness glided over his back again, he could feel it. He tried to shake it away, but it stuck. It curled around his legs and neck. He struggled to breath. It began circling his forearm and down to his wrist. Lance raised his arm to see and the sight caused him to shriek again, of course, only emitting a low, breathy, whisper._

_His entire arm was purple. The hue snaked its way along his skin and to the very tips of his fingers. His nails were pulled outwards painfully and they formed sharp talons. He didn’t dare inspect the rest of his body but he could feel his head pounding. Slowly, two protrusions emerged from his head and Lance dropped to the ground, screaming in agony, although still silently. He instinctively pushed his hands into his head, digging his nails into the skin there as a desperate attempt to do something, anything, but it only caused him more pain. Writhing around, screaming, the pain, the darkness, it all became too much and before Lance could fully understand what was happening, he passed out again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can someone who isn't me write a Goofy Movie AU with Lance as Max, Coran as Goofy, Keith as Roxanne, Hunk as PJ, Pidge as Bobby, and Shiro and/or Allura as Powerline.  
> Thank you.


	9. Cryptid Mothology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought this soft woods fic couldn't get any softer, then prepare to be proven wrong!  
> Also, this is the chapter where my beta dropped off the map for personal reasons, so blame the errors on my lazy ass for not reading this through before posting.

Lance shot up into a seated position, gasping suddenly. He pushed his hands down and into the covers, relief flooding him when his hands actually connected with the blankets. His breathing slowed a bit when the bookshelf across the room came into view, although his heart took slightly longer to calm. Glancing around his room again, the events of yesterday came back and he stared down at his hand. It was the same as it had always been, not purple and clawless. He released a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. After he was finished his inspection, he pushed his hands above his head and stretched, listening to the birds chirping outside. _Life goes on._ Lance thought to himself as he stared at the curtain-covered window. Tree leaves rustled in the blowing wind. Lance already knew what he was going to spend the day doing.

He shifted his legs out from beneath the blanket and studied his bandaged foot. It would probably be fine for another few hours or so, and Lance decided he wouldn’t waste time rewrapping his foot. Instead, he pulled his shoes on. A soft glow filtered through the curtains on the windows and Lance appreciated the comfort it brought him. He cautiously raised himself from his spot on the edge of the bed and limped out of the room. On his way to the kitchen, he noticed that all the mud he had tracked in the night before was missing. Keith must’ve cleaned it as he said he would. Lance smiled slightly at that.

 Think of the devil. Upon entering the kitchen, he found Keith awake and seated at the table with a piece of bread and a cooked egg on a plate in front of him. His yellow eyes glanced up to meet – maybe meet? It was still difficult to tell – Lance’s eyes and he paused mid chew.

“Good morning.” He mumbled, then he swallowed and continued. “Want anything to eat?” Punctuating his question, he picked his half-eaten egg up with his fork and dangled it off the end.

Lance shifted to use the other chair at the table as a support for himself. “No thanks. I was thinking of going to the village.” He responded, gauging Keith’s reaction.

“How?” Was all he said.

The simple question caught Lance off guard and he furrowed his eyebrows at Keith, who had begun to eat again. “What do you mean ‘how’?”

“You’re leaning on that chair just to stand, you think you can walk to the village?”

Lance stared at his chair support as if seeing it for the first time and pushed away from it, which nearly resulted in him falling over but he righted himself before it happened. “I’m perfectly fine to walk to the village.” Lance retorted.

Keith only sighed and scraped his chair along the floor as he stood. His meal sat on the table, unattended. Lance twisted around to watch as Keith exited the kitchen and wandered into his room. It confused Lance that Keith would just up and leave so suddenly but no sooner had he left, he was returning again. This time, however, he was carrying two wooden sticks. Closely inspecting them, Lance realized they were actually crutches. They looked worn, as if they had been used many times before, and Lance imagined an injured Keith stumbling around the house being held up by the crutches. He shuffled uncomfortably.

“These will help. Test them out first, though. I don’t want to have to fish you out of the river just because you don’t know how to use a crutch.” Keith handed the supports to him and he shifted them around until he felt safe to step away from the chair. The other boy watched him fumble around for a moment and Lance was loosely aware that if he fell, Keith would not be able to do anything but stand back and hope Lance didn’t injure himself further. Luckily, he didn’t take a tumble, much to both of their relief. At a glance, he had been hesitant to trust the sturdiness of the crutches, but once settled into them, he realized they were much more steadfast than he had originally given them credit for.

Lance kicked his crutches out and followed them closely with his own foot. His bandaged leg dragged along uselessly and he huffed in frustration. Irritated, he tried again and it went smoother than the first time but it still felt unnatural. Keith frowned and his ears twitched. Lance took a large breath and let it out, then moved through the kitchen some more.

After he had practiced his new method of walking enough that he felt confident in his abilities, he smiled at Keith triumphantly. “I’ve got the hang of it now!” He announced, and Keith chuckled lightly.

“The woods aren’t flat like the kitchen.” Pointing a thumb in the direction of the village, Keith poked a hole in Lance’s enthusiasm.

Furrowing his brow, Lance stared at Keith and his smile dropped. “I know that! I’m not going to trip on a root or something.”

“Alright. I just don’t want you hurting yourself further.” Keith waved a hand dismissively and returned to his egg and bread. “Stay safe.” He mumbled around a bite of food.

Lance watched Keith chewing for a moment before he awkwardly turned his crutches around and jerked his way out of the kitchen and through the front door. The forest floor was obviously vastly different from the hardwood, as Keith had pointed out, and Lance was aware of that fact, but he had underestimated just how uneven the ground really was. Stumbling along, his crutches continuously got caught in tiny dips in the road. He forced his way down the trail toward the village and away from the house.

The sky was much clearer than the day previous, although it didn’t do much to lift Lance’s spirit. Fresh, crisp air flitted through his hair and clothes, ruffling them. He sucked in a deep breath as the wind flowed by him, cleansing his lungs. A weight felt lifted from his chest, as though the new day’s weather was the solution to his problem, as though everything was under his control. He knew that the effects of nature were not enough to fix everything. A cool breeze wouldn’t bring his family back to him and it wouldn’t get him into the kingdom. But he was still fairly far from the village entrance and he wasn’t ready to contemplate his hopeless situation just then.

A slick section of mud almost took Lance right out but he managed to catch himself in the last second. Angrily, he glared at the mud and let out an audible sigh which was almost a groan, then turned back onto the road, slightly shaken. What had he been thinking about? Lance couldn’t even remember his exact train of thought. He stared out into the woods trying not to picture the corpse he had seen being dumped, instead choosing to focus on the sounds of the birds chirping and the flowers rustling in the wind.

Lance had never felt more useless in his entire life. As an older brother, he had always been one to help his siblings out, no matter what they needed. Whether it was standing up for them in tough situations, demonstrating respect as a role model, encouraging them to do what they loved, giving life advice, resolving conflicts, or even just lending an ear, Lance was there. He had a use as a sibling. But now, he felt like a burden, like he couldn’t do anything to help anyone, even himself. He frequently caused trouble for Keith, constantly worrying him with his continuous wandering through the woods, and – although he didn’t know the truth at the time – endlessly urging their departure for the ‘new village.’ Not only was he a cargo in Keith’s life, he was also dragging himself down. How could he possibly return to his family when he was the new target of a sick and twisted witch hunt? Lance glanced down at his busted ankle. That was another thing. He couldn’t even _walk_ without assistance. Everything about his situation seemed as though it had been specially crafted just to drag him through the mud. Literally. It dawned on him slowly, a panicked, burning fire choking him and invading his mind; he was nothing more than dead weight.

Ahead of him, the gate to the abandoned village swung out in the light wind and Lance sped up, tears threatening to breach his eyelids. Limping along, he made his way to the bridge which connected the town trail to the kingdom path. At the peak of the rounded bridge, he stopped, breathing heavy at the effort it required to hobble his way there. The water underneath the bridge was calm and held no signs of ever being touched. It appeared like a blanket, undisturbed and spread out, reflecting the clear sky above. Lance shuffled to the edge of the bridge and, carefully as he could, lowered himself with the help of the crutches onto the cold cobblestone. He used his hands to lift himself closer to the thin, stone pillars acting as a barrier. Making sure not to hit his foot or jostle his leg too jarringly, he slid his legs in between the bars and leaned his forehead into the overarching stone. He settled his crutches down behind him and stared out at the still water.

Originally, he was going to stumble through the village on a nostalgia tour until he felt well enough to return to the house, but once he had arrived, his own thoughts had weighed on him to the point where all he wanted to do was sit outside the village and cry. He couldn’t bring himself to spare even a glance at the houses to his right because he knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to hold back his tears. All the wonderful memories he had of that town and all the amazing people he had known there, they were all gone. Nothing would ever be the same as it was before. His family was gone and he would never see them again. Did they think he was dead? Did they think he had caught the curse? Were they worried about him? What lies were the royal guards telling them? So many questions that Lance would never have answers to, being shunned from the kingdom, and all.

Lance stayed on the bridge for what felt like forever, just remembering everything he could about his family and the village as a whole. At some point during the terrible slew of thoughts he had been engrossed in, Lance had started crying. He lifted his hand absentmindedly to press his hand to his wet cheek. It wasn’t a surprise to him, he knew he would cry eventually, but he still felt hopeless as the tears painted his face. Now, Lance was not one to think that crying was weak. He had seen his little brother cry at a scraped knee and his little sister had cried during a thunderstorm once, and he would never call his siblings weak, they were the strongest, bravest kids he had ever met. No, crying was not a sign of weakness. And yet, sitting on that bridge, injured leg dangling off the side, trapped in the woods, he could only feel weakness. The crying only amplified it.

A thought occurred to Lance then. With much hesitation, he turned his head to the other side of the bridge to stare into the woods. There, he could see it, a heap with a white cloth over it. Lance knew what it was then, it was no longer a secret or a mystery to be discovered like it had been when he had first asked Keith about it. The reality of the sheet made his stomach drop. Another thought filtered through his mind, a much more disturbing thought. He tried to push it aside but the more he tried, the more it scratched at the back of his mind, urging him, driving him.

Before Lance could begin to fully regret it, he pulled his legs back through the pillars and slid his body backwards until he could leverage himself to his feet with the help of his crutches. Then, using the wooden supports, he slowly shuffled his way across the bridge again, toward the forest edge. Everything moved in slow motion and his heart beat faster. It echoed in his chest and radiated through his entire body. Every limb felt weak and jelly-like, his head was fuzzy and he felt numb. Swallowing, he reached the edge. Ahead of him, the cloth pile seemed far bigger than he had been ready for. He carefully made his way towards it, the sickened thought manifesting into its own entity inside his mind.

_What if that’s your family?_

Keith had mentioned that families were killed together and he had assured him that he had never even come across any family that resembled anything close to Lance’s family, but that didn’t quell the distorted, inner monologue that had somehow convinced him that Keith was _wrong,_ and that his family was _there. Under that sheet._

As he grew closer, he was forced to take a stumbling step backwards, waves of scent hitting him like a freight train. Meat. Rotting, cooking, Altean flesh, boiling in the heat of the sun filtering through the trees. Bile rose in his throat and he almost turned around right then and there to head back to the house, but the idea that that could be his family was so securely rooted in his brain by then that he knew he couldn’t leave until he was at ease.

Reluctantly, he leaned closer and gripped the corner of the cloth. Then, before he could back out again, he yanked the entire cloth away. When he had created this plan, he had thought it would be quick and easy; tear the sheet off, check, hurry away. But what he hadn’t been prepared for was the fact that the blood from the corpses would create a form of glue, welding fabric to skin. As he pulled, the bodies underneath were shifted out of place and one of the corpses tumbled, landing at his feet. Lance fell backwards, too startled to steady himself, and as he fell, he caught a glimpse of the pale, melted face stained with blood before the sheet fluttered back over the bodies. The lady’s eyes were dull and empty, staring lifelessly back at Lance. It was enough to make him vomit in a nearby bush after quickly crawling away first.

His stomach emptied itself into the plant and began crying harder. As twitchy, sickened, and panicked as he felt in that moment, he also felt relief. That was no one he knew, and certainly not his mother. Seeing a stranger in that state caused such a visceral reaction within Lance that he was sure his entire being would shut down completely if it had been anyone he knew, let alone his mother.

Lance fumbled around in the dirt, his nose was running, his eyes were gushing, his breathing was heavy. Finally, he found the wood curve of the crutches and hauled himself upwards. Fast as he was able, he hurried back through the woods and over the bridge, past the village gate and up the trail. Along the way, he had managed to calm himself down and distance himself enough, until his breathing was near normal and his tears were dried.

Lance wished he hadn’t checked under the blanket.

His thoughts being occupied by what he had just experienced, he didn’t notice right away that he had made it back to the house. Stepping closer to the cottage, he reached for the handle, only to find it locked. For a brief moment, he felt another surge of panic, mostly residual from being already on edge, but then he realized that it most likely meant that Keith was around the back or away from the house and had not, in fact, locked him out. He staggered is way around the perimeter of the cabin, passing his window with the axe outside it, still lodged in the stump. As he turned the corner he saw a wide array of garden tools spread out along the grass underneath the trees. Vegetables of varying kinds littered the table and a purple boy with flattened ears peered at them disapprovingly. That sight alone was enough to ease Lance considerably.

When his feet shuffled further forward and the crutches pressed into the ground, the sound alerted Keith to his presence. The other man turned to stare at him, clearly startled and tense, dirt smearing his face. “Oh, Lance. You’re back earlier than usual.” He observed, an aura of caution in his voice, as though testing Lance’s emotional state.

Lance nodded and moved forward again. “Yeah, it was getting depressing.” He smiled sadly.

Keith just stared at him, not returning the false smile. “I don’t know what you expected.” It sounded unsure and awkward. Keith wasn’t very good with comforting words although he tried, and Lance appreciated the effort.

Eyebrows pinched, he glared at the vegetables, thinking about his journey to the abandoned village. He debated not telling Keith what he had seen but then he thought it might offer more comfort to talk with him since he had been dealing with this for who knows how long, and maybe Keith wanted to get some thoughts off his chest too. All the same, he felt out of place as he began his next sentence. “I know you said the sheet wasn’t my family, but I– I had to be sure.” He sniffled.

Keith’s eyes widened and he looked as though he wanted to say something but stopped himself. Then, he sighed out a silent word, his eyes closing and his head bowing. “ _Fuck.”_ He stared back up at Lance, his face showing his concern like an open book, unusual for Keith. “I wish you hadn’t’ve done that, Lance.” Something heavy weighed in his words and Lance’s heart felt pained once again.

“You and me both, Mullet.” His heart wasn’t in it and his nickname sounded closer to a term of endearment than a teasing addition.

Keith’s gaze hardened into one of determination at the name. “I meant it when I said you’ll see your family again.” He suddenly blurted, complete and utter confidence in his sentence. “We both will.” Keith added, turning to the table of vegetables to once again glare at them, scrutinizing their appearance.

Lance was slightly taken aback but he felt pained at the words all the same, knowing them to be lies, but the way Keith had asserted them so positively, Lance could almost believe him.

“What’re you doing?” Lance asked, changing the subject before he felt like crying again.

Keith scraped at a rotten patch on one of the tomatoes. “Picking out the best vegetables.” He answered shortly.

Expecting some further explanation, Lance waited, but when none came, he spoke up. “Best for what?”

“Supper tonight.” He dropped the tomato gently into a basket on one of the chairs that Lance hadn’t noticed at first. “I was going to make stew. Is that alright?” Keith glanced at Lance over his shoulder.

Stew was one of Lance’s favourites because of the comforting warmth it always brought him. He had always associated stew with cold nights and a feeling of renewal and resolve. Perhaps stew would be able to lift his mood, or at least ebb away some of his sadness. “Stew is good. You aren’t aware, but I’m a master of making stew. Kind of my specialty, really.” Lance made a show of rubbing his nails on his collarbone as if polishing them off, although it probably looked more awkward than anything with his crutches.

Keith snorted at that. “That’s what you say about everything.” He accused, amusement clear in his tone.

“Because it’s true about everything!” Lance retorted, finding himself smiling, small but genuine.

“Well, since I don’t think you can mess up stew, you can help me.” His smile faltered. “If you want, of course.” Keith mumbled, rolling another tomato off his hand and into the basket.

In his saddened state, Lance wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and wish for his family to find him, but he also really did wish to help Keith, and whether he wanted to admit it or not, Keith offered a normalcy, like an old friend he hadn’t seen in years, and it was equal parts addicting and comforting. “Nice try, Kitty, but I can’t prove how much better I am at stew-making than you otherwise.” Lance smirked as Keith tensed at the nickname, turning an odd shade of maroon in the cheeks and glaring at Lance.

“Will you ever stop with the nicknames?” He groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Nope. In fact, I think I’ll leave you to _stew_ in that one.” He made a ridiculously mocking face at his own pun and hobbled closer to the table.

“Your puns are always awful, but that was worse than the cat puns, I have to say.” Shot Keith, inspecting a carrot as he spoke.

Lance paused, holding a potato. “There better be some aloe vera in here somewhere because I just got burned.” He said dryly, glancing at the contents of the table.

“There isn’t any aloe vera, so I guess you’re just going to have to suffer. Tragic.” Keith shook his head in mock remorse.

Lance laughed, it was a small chuckle with hardly any sound, but he laughed all the same.

“Here lies Lance. Dragged in by the cat. May he rest in peace.”

“Oh my god, Keith, my puns are lame, I admit, but that was really horrible!” Lance announced, smiling.

Keith placed a few more vegetables which he deemed worthy into the basket, shaking his head as he did. “How could you say that? I didn’t think you would ever _stew-p_ so low.” Keith was never one for terrible puns and bad jokes, Lance had come to learn, but it seemed that he was really trying to cheer Lance up, or at least lighten the mood a bit more.  

Lance stared back at Keith for a moment, processing what he had just said. Then suddenly, he burst out laughing. It was loud and wholesome, the way he usually laughed, with his head tilted back and his eyes clenched shut. It felt good to laugh like that, but as soon as he calmed himself, he felt an edge of emptiness fill him again. “Who are you and what have you done with Keith?” He opened his eyes and made eye contact with Keith. There was a clear glint of relief in those yellow eyes. Even without any features, Lance could read them clear as day. He felt a small rush of warmth flood his cheeks at the expression Keith was aiming at him and he forced himself to focus back on the vegetables, carefully selecting the most ripened ones he could find and rolling them into the basket next to Keith.

A couple of minutes passed and neither spoke, although it wasn’t awkward and Lance hadn’t felt the need to fill it. It was an enjoyable silence. He figured Keith thought so too since Keith was much more of a silent kind of guy as well as the fact he had seemed much more content to pick his vegetables than to busy himself with conversation. The lack of noise as a distraction didn’t bring back any memories of his family of the people under the blanket like he would have thought, but rather he felt protected, as though Keith’s small backyard were a secret realm far from any dangers, a completely alternate reality altogether. Eventually, though, Keith picked up the basket and informed Lance that they had enough vegetables for the stew and they both headed into the house, Lance shuffling along.

Keith took his basket and placed it on the kitchen counter, instantly washing his hands the second it was put down and beginning the preparations of the stew.

“Do you need any help?” Lance asked, recalling his promise to assist with the making of dinner.

“Think you can handle cutting the carrots?” Keith glanced over his shoulder at the boy in the doorway before jerking his head to the basket.

Lance approached, still getting the hang of his crutches, especially indoors. He set about, rooting around in the cupboard and drawers until he found the cutting board he was searching for. Silently, he adjusted the carrots around so he could cut them. He felt a prickle of guilt as he wielded the knife and glanced over to Keith’s injured hand again. Keith cleared his throat which caused Lance to stare up at him then shift his gaze quickly back to the cutting board upon realizing that Keith had known what he was looking at. Keith probably thought he was useless and couldn’t be trusted with a knife anyways.

“So, uh…” Keith began, unsure of the words he was saying. “Do you…” He coughed. “Do you believe Bigfoot is out there?” Pointedly, he wasn’t looking at Lance, rather, he was preparing beef and flour in a bowl, calmly stirring.

Lance, thoroughly confused and caught off guard, turned to stare incredulously at Keith. “What…?” He asked dumbly, pausing his cutting.

A blush bloomed along Keith’s face, creating a maroon shade when mixed with his purple skin. “I just think that if Galra exist then it’s completely possible that other cryptids might exist too!” He snapped, defensively.

Laughter bubbled up from Lance again, short and sweet. “Bigfoot? No, I don’t think Bigfoot is out there.” He shook his head and continued cutting the carrot. “Maybe trolls, or gnomes though.”

“Trolls are huge, where would they hide?” Keith asked as though it was the best argument ever uttered.

Lance just scoffed. “They blend in with their camouflage, duh.”

“I have lived in this forest for a year and not once have I seen a gnome or a troll.” He carried his bowl of cut and floured meat to the fireplace, preparing to scrape it into the cauldron.

The carrot was moved aside into a separate bowl and Lance picked an onion from the basket to his right. “But you’ve seen Bigfoot?” His tone was sarcastic and skeptical but he smiled nonetheless.

“ _No._ I’m just saying that the evidence that Bigfoot exists makes a lot of sense and that trolls are too big to hide. Besides, Bigfoot might live in a different forest.” Keith shrugged, moving back to place the bowl and spoon on the counter next to Lance.

Stifling a laugh, Lance responded. “Just because you suck at troll spotting doesn’t mean they aren’t out there.”

“Hey!”

“Is this about the wood nymphs?” Lance squinted knowingly at Keith.

Suddenly, a spoon was being flung in Lance’s face, splatting flour all over his cheek. “They’re real!” Keith paused. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t– Ah, here, let me–” Hesitantly, he hovered his hand around Lance’s face as if he wanted to wipe it off with his thumb but he pulled back before he could, sputtering awkwardly, then reaching for a tea towel hanging on the handle in the wall, he handed it to the other boy. Lance accepted the towel and wiped the flour off, smiling softly at Keith’s gauche concern. After cleaning it off, Lance tossed the cloth onto the counter and watched Keith step stiffly back to the fireplace. He found himself wishing to see Keith’s enthusiasm again.

“What about skinwalkers?” Lance asked, starting the conversation up again.

Keith looked surprised at the sudden shift back to the previous topic, all signs of discomfort fading from his face. “Skinwalkers are real, you just wouldn’t be able to tell unless they shifted right in front of you.” He narrowed his eyes conspiratorially.

“That makes no sense!” Lance laughed.

“Wha– You just said you believe in trolls and gnomes!” Keith filled a small bowl with water and poured it into the cauldron, nearly spilling it over the side as he stopped to yell at Lance.

Lance wiped away tears that had begun to form around his eyes as a result of the onion he had moved onto, and continued slicing, still smiling at Keith’s genuine passion for the topic. “Yeah, but skinwalkers?” He shook his head. “I can’t believe that one. The magic is a bit of a stretch.”

Keith didn’t respond for a moment, just staring at Lance. “Yeah. You’re right.” He finally spoke. Lance stared at him, squinting. Keith hardly ever agreed with him. “Magic? Ridiculous.” Keith swiped his hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. “A creature that is Altean, but then somehow, magically, transforms into a non-Altean creature?” He turned back to the pot, stirring a bit. “That couldn’t possibly happen, ever. Could you imagine?” Lance snickered as Keith’s ears flapped violently while he was still turned to the pot. “Magic? What hogwash.” Keith’s voice had gotten more and more sarcastic the more he spoke and by the time he was finished making a show of the irony of Lance’s statement, Lance was full out laughing.

“Okay, okay! I get it, you’re a beautiful, magical, purple cryptid.” Lance wiped away more tears and smiled brightly.

Keith stopped stirring instantly. He stared into the pot, eyes wide, and Lance thought he might have said something wrong for a second. As he was getting ready to backpedal and attempt to repair the conversation, Keith suddenly lifted his head and stared directly at Lance.

“I’m a cryptid.” He whispered.

Lance pinched his eyebrows together and held eye contact. “I… I mean, I guess you are…”

Keith said nothing else, just turned back to stirring and adding bay leaves from a small jar on the counter next to the fireplace. Lance watched him a moment longer, confused.

“Wait, did you just call me beautiful?” Keith suddenly asked.

Lance’s fingers stuttered. “Um, no…” He expertly denied.

“Pretty sure you did.” His voice lilted as he tossed spices into the pot, smirking.

Lance picked up a piece of lettuce and began dicing it. “Pretty sure you need to get your ears checked, Bat Boy.”

Keith chuckled disbelievingly and wandered back to the counter to stand next to Lance, watching his cutting very closely.

“What’re you doing?” Lance asked as Keith’s gaze didn’t waver from the cutting board.

“Supervising.” He didn’t look up.

“Supervising? Supervising what?”

“Well,” Keith leaned back, looking smug, “we both know what happens when I trust you with lettuce.”

Lance groaned. “Keith!” He dragged the name out. “Just let that go!” More aggressively, he continued to cut the lettuce.

“You have to redeem yourself.” Keith laughed and swiped the cut onion and lettuce into the bowl with the carrot and moved to scoop them all into the pot over the fire, Lance watching him the entire time after having stopped cutting. He poured what Lance guessed was olive oil into the pot and continued stirring it, pausing to stare the fire itself then adding another log to the flames.

Neither of them said anything, content to simply go about their jobs in the kitchen. Lance set the table and filled two glasses with fresh water while trying not to drop anything or trip his crutches on any irregularity in the floorboards. Keith continued to monitor the food, occasionally adding in more oil or water. Once everything was set up, Keith grabbed the bowls from the table, filling the first one with a ladle and placing it on the table in Lance’s assigned – yet unassigned – spot. His own bowl followed closely behind. Lance watched from his chair the way that Keith moved about his house, every movement appeared graceful and with intent. Finally, Keith joined him on the opposite end of the table, stew in hand.

Lance inspected the stew. Steam floated up from the bowl, curling around Lance’s face. He breathed deeply, taking in the scent. It smelled wonderful and Lance could almost differentiate the various spices used, but they all mixed together so beautifully. He picked his spoon up and stabbed a piece of meat, watching as it dripped with broth, then gathering it up on his spoon before he brought it up to his mouth. Popping the piece into his mouth, he let out a satisfied moan and revelled in the flavour. Before he could swallow, he scooped a group of vegetables and meat up on his spoon and quickly ate it.

Across from him, Keith hummed and Lance look up at him. With a spoon in his hand and his jaw grinding slowly, Keith stared down at his stew. Once he swallowed, he met Lance’s eye. “Hidebehind?” He asked.

Lance quirked his head. “Hide be what?”

“The Hidebehind. Real or not?” Keith’s face was entirely serious.

Stirring his stew with his spoon, he stared at Keith, matching his no-nonsense demeanor. He nodded his head in contemplation. _The Hidebehind. Yes. That thing. Of course. Hiding. And… being behind… things…_ Finally, he answered. “I have no idea what that is.”

Keith let out an exasperated huff and began his explanation. “It’s another cryptid. It lives in the woods and kills people so it can drag them back to its lair and eat them. Some woodsmen went missing and it was suspected that it was the Hidebehind. No one has ever actually directly seen the Hidebehind though, because it hides behind things. Like trees, and stumps.” He took another bite of stew.

“How can no one have seen it?”

“Because it hides, I just said!” Keith answered around a carrot.

Lance squinted. “Okay, vague. What if it can’t hide behind a tree?”

“It can.”

“What if it’s too big to hide?” Lance was skeptical about this creature, it sounded extremely ridiculous and implausible. Galra? Obviously. Gnomes? Yes. Trolls? Sure. But the Hidebehind? No way.

“It alters its body shape.” Keith scoffed, as though it was the most obvious thing ever.

Lance flung his spoon out at random, full of sass. “So, it’s a shapeshifter?”

“No. It’s a Hidebehind.” Keith’s eyebrows furrowed and he forcefully ate some more.

“Sounds the same to me.” Lance said, deadpan. He followed Keith’s lead and continued eating.

They bickered back and forth, discussing cryptids and whether or not specific ones were really out there. Lance was a non-believer and Keith – very adamantly – insisted that Lance was wrong. Even if Keith was getting far too into his theories, riling himself up in some kind of cryptid positive feedback loop. Lance didn’t help though, he only added more fuel to Keith’s fire, egging him on and listening intensely to his speculations. He tried to tell himself it was because Keith’s preposterous beliefs were hilarious but he knew it was because he truly enjoyed seeing Keith so excited about something. Even if Keith’s brand of excitement was dangerously close to mania. Or perhaps that was just because Keith was rarely so enthusiastic that it _seemed_ manic. Whatever the case, it was rubbing off on Lance.

Even after they were finished their dinner and Lance had gotten seconds, and the sun had gone down, the moon coming up, they continued to talk about cryptids. The more they talked, the more they both loosened up. Lance had never heard Keith speak so much at one time and he was practically yelling, but Lance had no problem with it. He found it endearing, even.

“What’s your favourite cryptid?” Lance asked, collecting more food on his spoon.

“Mothman.” Keith answered instantly.

Silence for a moment, then Lance snorted and started snickering. “Mothman, really?”

Keith jabbed his elbow into the centre of the table and pointed a long, clawed finger at Lance’s face. “Yes. _The_ Mothman.”

Lance was thoroughly amused. “That’s, like, the fakest cryptid of them all!”

Keith’s yellow eyes widened and his ears flattened. Lance suddenly felt like he had messed up. “You take that back! Mothman is _real._ He is _out there!”_ Keith’s chest was virtually sprawled over the table as he fired off. “And one day, he will come for me and whisk me away to his moth home so we can be wed.” Concluded Keith, leaning back and crossing his arms.

Neither of them spoke. They just stared at each other. Lance was speechless, then he wheezed and began cackling. He threw his head back and banged his open palm on the table, nearly knocking his half empty bowl over. Had Keith really just said that? He couldn’t believe it.

“Stop laughing!” Keith’s voice was muffled by Lance’s laughter.

“Did you just say you’re going to marry Mothman?!” Lance yelled, tinged with amusement.

Keith slammed his hands down on the table. “Yes!” This only caused Lance’s hysterics to get louder.

“Why?!”

“Have you seen his abs?” Keith lowered his voice.

 “ _Keith! It’s a moth!”_

“Point Pleasant? More like, Point Pleasure.” Keith smirked.

Lance let out an inhuman screech.

It was Keith’s turn to laugh, although not as much as Lance. “I’m joking.” Keith reassured, smirking. “ _That’s_ not why I’m going to marry Mothman.”

Lance guffawed, trying to calm himself down. “I can’t believe this.”

“We would have lovely, purple half-moth, half-Galra children with fluffy wings and ears.” Keith explained. “I don’t care if they have my eyes or his eyes.” He waved his hand and crossed his arms again.

“You’re going to start a moth family with Mothman?” Lance chortled through his sentence. “Can I be the godparent to your kids?”

Keith’s eyebrows furrowed. “Absolutely not, I don’t want my children picking up your awful humour.”

“What?!” Lance snapped. How disrespectful.

Reaching over and grabbing Lance’s abandoned stew, Keith made his way over to the sink and cleaned the bowl out. He leaned back against the counter, caressing the tableware with the same tea towel that Lance had left abandoned next to the cutting board. Moonlight streamed in through the uncovered window above the sink creating a light blue shimmer around Keith. His yellow eyes glowed in the darkness, directly at Lance.

“You can come to the wedding though.” Keith responded.

Lance laughed again. He found himself doing a lot of that, but the thought of Keith promising his hand to a giant moth was really quite comical to him. After his laughter died down, he noticed that Keith was just watching him, the bowl in his unmoving hand and a small smile lined his face. Lance had never seen Keith look so soft.

“What?” He asked, voice quiet, still smiling.

“Can I show you something?” Keith whispered back.

Lance stared at him for a moment. “Yeah.”

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Keith quickly hurried through the woods with Lance trailing closely behind him. He tried to slow enough that Lance wouldn’t trip or fall, but his excitement was overwhelming. Lance stumbled along on his crutches, still getting used to his temporary legs and the forest floor not helping anything. The night was cool and bright. Normally the darkness would overtake the sky and block out everything from view, but with the full moon overhead cascading everything in a bluish tint, it just made the woods feel ethereal. The dirt path had tittered off a while back but Keith continued to lead Lance through the grass and bushes, attempting to clear as much of a trail as he could for Lance. Occasionally he had to turn back to Lance to reassure him that they were nearly there and that it wasn’t too far.

Finally, after what felt like ages with the steady pace they were forced to keep, the trees opened up to a small edge and dropped off marginally into a pond. As the pair approached, the water could be seen better and moonlight shone of the surface. There were no ripples disrupting the water and it looked like a flat, solid plane. Everything felt calm and serene, the air was crisp and Keith breathed deeply. The trees on the other side of the pond draped branches over the water, making everything feel even more closed in, but not in a bad way.

“Whoa…” Keith turned around to see Lance stopped a few steps behind him staring out at the scenery, seemingly in a daze. His eyes were wide and his mouth was agape. “What is this?” He whispered, as though any loud noise would crumble the tranquility of it all.

Keith gestured to Lance to come closer to the edge and stepped closer himself. Making sure not to slip, Keith lowered himself to the ground and slid his legs along the grass until they slid over the side and dangled there. Checking over his shoulder, he could see Lance awkwardly attempting to sit down with the help of his crutches then following Keith’s actions to seat himself on the ledge. His wrapped foot shifted around as he got comfortable.

“I come here sometimes when I need to clear my head.” Keith explained in a near whisper. “It’s relaxing.”

Lance stared down at the water and kicked his feet overtop of it. He nodded at Keith’s statement. Then he turned his gaze up to the moon above them across the pond and he smiled sadly. The reflected light from the moon illuminated Lance’s face and Keith studied the way it cast shadows along his face and made his eyes shimmer. He didn’t dare look away, even as Lance noticed him watching.

“It’s beautiful.” Lance responded quietly, the same sad smile still in place.

Words caught in his throat, Keith couldn’t speak. Instead, he shifted his arms so that he could lean back on one hand and use the other to point at the sky. Even with the light from the moon, a few stars are still visible. Lance’s gaze followed his hand to a cluster of stars.

“That constellation there is Leo.” Keith said finally, lowering his hand. “In the first trial Hercules had to complete after murdering his family, decreed by the King, he had to kill the Nemean Lion. It was a very powerful lion with impenetrable skin, so when Hercules tried to shoot it with arrows, it only made the lion angry.” Lance turned back from the constellation to watch Keith tell the story. “But, he needed to complete the trial, and being Hercules, he would never turn tail and run. Instead, he charged the lion and stunned him with his club. Then he strangled the lion to death using only his hands. He was supposed to bring the hide of the Nemean Lion back to the King, but the hide was impenetrable, remember.” Lance nodded in response. “He tried a couple different things until he finally discovered that it was the lion’s own teeth that could–”

Lance interrupted. “It was the claws.”

Keith stared for a moment. “Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?” He chuckled. “You know the story already?” Cocking his head the side, he stared up towards the stars.

“I used to tell the same stories to my siblings.” His eyes turned to the sky too.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Guilt pooled in Keith’s gut. The reason he had brought Lance there in the first place was to take his mind off the events from the previous night and to make him less hopeless about his situation. Keith wasn’t about to tell Lance about the journals and the possibility of the reverse to the curse which would allow them both to enter the kingdom, not when he had been searching for a year and only recently found anything concrete. He was too far away from a real solution to let Lance know, but he still wanted to offer comfort in some way, shape, or form.

“No, it’s okay. I miss the stories. My little sister liked them best. She also liked to make up her own too.” Lance laughed softly and smiled at Keith. Completely enraptured by what Lance was telling him, he nodded along, encouraging him to continue. “For Leo, he was a magical, blue lion who was the bravest creature to ever live. Oh wait, wait! She does this thing when she tells it.” He lifted his hands as if they were lion paws and made ridiculous growling noise.

Keith, completely caught off guard by this, burst into sudden laughter and Lance joined in. “Yeah, I know. Anyway, bravest to ever live, right. The reason he’s in the sky is because he has to save the universe from evil aliens who are trying to take over. And he’s always doing things like flying into asteroid fields and black holes and cool junk like that.”

“Does he save the universe?” Keith found himself whispering into the space between them.

“Of course.” Lance whispered back, grinning.

Keith turned to look up at the stars again, smile still on his face. “I think I like that version better.”

More laughter. “I didn’t peg you as a constellation kind of guy.” Lance said.

Sighing, Keith relaxed his shoulders and let his upper body fall back into the grass, Lance watching him the whole time. He mentally began to connect the stars. “My brother told them to me when I was little.”

“You have a brother?”

“Had.” Keith corrected, swallowing thickly.

Lance shifted next to him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

His sentence was cut off before he could complete the thought. “He’s not dead. Well, I don’t think he is anyway.”

More shifting. “What do you mean?” His voice was soft as he attempted to encourage Keith to carry on.

Keith sighed again. “I grew up in Altea with my parents and my brother – Shiro, his name is Shiro – and after our parents died, Shiro joined the royal guards. He was a natural born leader and he was impossible to hate, so he made a great knight. A _real_ knight. Not like the hacks they’re recruiting now.” Scoffing at the memory of the knights, he continued. “Around a year ago, they had a mission; the Kerberos mission. All they were doing was checking for outbreaks of the Galra curse. But, he never came back. The rest of the knights on the mission came back but he didn’t. I was told that he was infected with the Galra curse and they were forced to leave him, but I know it’s a lie. They left him for dead on purpose.

“Eventually, after I had tried to start enough fights with the guards and tried to expose what they had done, I was given the choice; leave the kingdom or be executed. That was a year ago. I’ve been searching for any sign of him ever since then but I haven’t really gotten anywhere.” Tears prickled his eyes but he didn’t let them fall.

“Keith…” Lance’s voice broke him from his memories and he stared up at the other boy.

“I didn’t mean to get caught by the Galra curse, but some Galra are savages and I was lucky to get away at all.” He lifted his knee and used his claws to gently lift his pant leg up to the bend in his leg. An enormous, protruding scar ran along his calf, long since healed but still marked by a lighter hue of purple. “I wasn’t the fighter that Shiro was back then.”

Lance gasped next to him and stared wide eyed at the mark. Keith studied his expression and committed it to memory. The soft features of his skin were wrinkled and scrunched up in worry and Keith wanted nothing more than to trace his hands along the boy’s face until any concern he felt disappeared.

“Keith, if Shiro is anything like you, I’m positive he’s alright.” Lance said, voice hard and determined but still full of emotion.

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Keith stared deeply into Lance’s eyes. The cool blue entranced him, captivated him, pulled him in like a siren’s song would a sailor, drowning him in trust and care. Keith found himself embracing the threat of sinking, apathetic to the consequences it might bring him, as long as Lance was safe. As long as Lance smiled and never stopped. As long as the light in Lance’s eyes never faded.

“We’ll find our families, Lance.” Keith whispered for the second time that day, never breaking eye contact with Lance. And that time, unlike the other times, he believed what he’s saying.

And in that moment, as his legs dangled over the ledge with the moon illuminating the both of them, creating the illusion that they were the only two people left in the world, Keith realized just how much he really cared about Lance.

And just how much he wanted to hold Lance’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter months ago and I'm still thinking about "Point Pleasure".  
> I can't look at Point Pleasant the same.


	10. Hansel and Regretel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I know what you're probably thinking.  
> "Sheksper! Where is the plot?? When will mah boyz hug each other?? I've never been so desperate for two people to hold hands, dammit, what is this??"  
> And I agree! But this is a soft woods fic, and that means more soft in the woods. 10,000 words worth of soft in the woods actually. But I swear there is a plot in here somewhere, if you squint hard enough.

The next day was bright, much brighter than normal, but perhaps that was a result of Lance’s newfound optimism towards finding his family. No matter how many times he had heard the words before, they had always sounded empty, but with what Keith had told him last night and the way he had stared at Lance as if he were the only thing that mattered, he was really starting to believe that returning to his family was not a completely lost cause after all. Even if it took time and work, Lance was willing to do anything to see his family again, to hug them and tell them just how much he had missed them.

Even though nothing had changed with his situation – he was still in the woods with a broken leg and no way of getting to the kingdom – he still felt refreshed and renewed. It was most likely a mixture of the closure that his sobbing on the bridge had brought as well as the bonding he had done with Keith. Although making a mental list of everything going on in his life couldn’t actually do anything, it still made him feel more in control, and if there was one thing Lance had been severely lacking in for the past week, it was control.

As he opened his eyes, the ceiling of his guest room came into view. Guest room. Vaguely in the back of his mind he wondered how long he would spend in this cottage in the woods and at what point would his guest room truly become _his_ room. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, then slowly released the breath. Something he could control.

The ceiling came into view again as he reopened his eyes. This morning was a much easier one for him than the last. No nightmares had plagued him like they had the previous night and there wasn’t the same heaviness in his chest like all the times before that. The tightness in his chest, he began to realize, was a result of Keith’s standoffishness when it came to topics relating to his family and the new village. Now that the truth was out in the open and there was no need to hide anything anymore, Keith became closer to Lance, more trusting, and Lance felt a different kind of tightness in his chest at that notion.

Turning his head to the side, he located his crutches and slithered a long lanky arm out from beneath the covers of the blanket to drag them to his bedside. Once he was able to use them as a support, he finally sat up and removed the blanket and swung his legs over the edge. Careful not to knock his foot around too much, he stood, leaning the majority of his weight on the crutches.

It had only been a couple of days but Lance was already feeling like he didn’t need the crutches anymore, but injuries didn’t heal that quickly and he knew that another day or two with his crutches would do more to help than to harm. So, without any complaint, he heaved himself up and stumbled his way from the room and into the main hallway of the house. He paused for a moment and listened, but he heard no noise. Keith, as Lance had found, was always up first. He assumed it was because Keith had things to do around the house but it could also just be that Keith was a morning person.

Lance shuffled his way to the kitchen and sat at the chair next to the table. Staring around the room, he noticed that it had been cleaned after dinner the previous day, something that Lance had no hand in. Perhaps that was what Keith got up to in the early hours of the day.

Lance was fully aware that he didn’t need to search for Keith every morning and that even from day one, Keith had trusted him enough in the house not to wait until he woke up to supervise him, but he still checked around for the other every morning. One way or the other, Lance was sure it was just to inform Keith of his plans for the day and definitely not because he wanted to see Keith. Which he didn’t. Obviously.

After a moment of contemplative thought on the reasons why he would seek Keith out every morning, Lance decided he had had enough waiting and heaved himself up onto his crutches again. Shambling along through the hallway, thankfully, with less difficulty than the day before, he made his way to Keith’s bedroom door. This time he didn’t plan on listening through the wood for any movement since the last time he had tried that, he hadn’t been nearly as sneaky as he had thought. Instead, he knocked. He waited. No answer. No shuffling either. He knocked again for good measure, but received the same results.

 _Outside it is, then._ Lance hobbled his way back down the hallway and to the front door. Upon opening the door, he was greeted with a warm breeze rushing by, ruffling his hair and shuffling his clothes. It was a refreshing difference from being indoors and Lance couldn’t tell if it was because Keith’s house was old and stuffy, or if it was because he was always elated to be outdoors, he was practically handcrafted for the freedom which an open sky offered. Whatever the reason, Lance was glad to be outside.

Making sure not to get his crutches caught in any dips in the dirt, he skirted along the side of the house, passing the axe in the stump next to his bedroom window and coming to stop at the table near the shed. Keith wasn’t there but Lance was sure he was around somewhere. He wouldn’t just leave Lance, especially not after everything that had happened. Lance continued to round the house and once the garden came into view, so did a crouched, purple figure surrounded by gardening equipment. Just like before, there was a huge smudge of dirt along his face as he startled at the sound of Lance approaching from around the corner. His yellow eyes relaxed once he realized who it was though.

“Morning.” He called before turning back to his tiny patch of tomatoes.

“Good morning, Keithy, playing in the dirt again, I see.” Lance teased, a sly grin on his face.

Keith’s ears bristled. “Y’know, I was almost going to ask if you wanted anything for breakfast, but now you can starve.” His tone was light but Lance knew his threat was serious.

Attempting to see what Keith was doing up close, Lance shuffled through the garden. “You’d let me wither away to nothing? Why are you so cruel?” Narrowly, he missed crushing some kind of leafy plant which almost definitely had a vegetable underneath.

“If you damage anything in this garden, I’ll stick you in a wormhole.” Keith hissed, glaring out of the corner of his eye.

“You love these plants more than you love me.” Lance sighed dramatically but stepped more carefully.

“It’s true.” He agreed easily, digging up some untouched dirt and placing a seed in the hole created.

Lance watched for a moment from beside Keith, bending as far forward as he could manage without feeling as though he was going to tip over and get a face full of dirt. The dirt that had been removed was placed back over the seed and Keith delicately patted the spot.

“Are you going on some kind of adventure today?” Keith asked, sounding mildly forced and nearly urgent.

Readjusting his crutches, Lance glanced over to the entrance of the small garden. “Nothing today, why?” He leered down at Keith, who was then staring skeptically up at him. “Missing me already?”

Keith scoffed, although it was tense. “In your dreams. But if you don’t need anything then could you stop hovering?” He shifted farther down the row to prepare another plant.

“Do you actually want me to leave you alone?” Lance asked hesitantly.

Pausing his hands, Keith turned to stare at him. He didn’t say anything for a moment.

Truth be told, Lance didn’t really want to venture off into the woods again after his last near death experience, not without some way to protect himself at least. He knew there was a slim chance that he would run into the knights again, but if he did then what would he do? It wasn’t like he could run with his foot in bandages. There were also other Galra in the forest, according to Keith, anyway. Lance had never actually seen any other Galra except Keith himself but that didn’t mean he was willing to risk it by stumbling around in the woods until they found him. All in all, he just really didn’t feel like going anywhere that day, preferring just to stay in and around the house. Being around Keith wouldn’t be so bad either. Yet, here Keith was, seemingly inconvenienced by Lance’s presence. Was he hoping that Lance would go off into the forest like usual so he could garden in peace?

Lance glanced down at Keith’s hand wrapped in bandages covered with dirt. He hadn’t meant to look but it was already too late and Keith had noticed. “You can stay if you want.” He said softly, hesitantly. Then, upon realizing he was slipping out of his brooding persona, he muttered. “Just don’t mess with anything, got it?”

Smiling down at Keith’s flattened ears and barely concealed pout, he answered. “Got it!” And seated himself next to Keith, cautious not to hit any of the surrounding plants.

Birds chirped and Lance turned to search for them in the surrounding trees, only to notice them directly above the pair, seated on the trellis amongst the winding vines. Light cascaded through the openings and Lance smiled, squinting at the birds. With the light sneaking its way in between the leaves and wooden planks, barely caressing certain parts of the flower beds below, Lance felt as though he were hidden away in a secret base that no one but him and Keith could reach. He almost giggled as the thought of a young Keith building forts from sticks in the woods crossed his mind. Turning his head, he studied Keith’s profile. There were small patches of warm sunlight spread along his back and head and his eyebrows were drawn in concentration. Keith most likely wasn’t the fort making type of kid, Lance decided.

A warm breeze drew through the enclosed space and Lance caught as Keith’s ear fur blew softly then stopped altogether when Keith quickly lowered his ears. It was endearing and he let an easy smile spread across his face. His eyes lidded a bit and despite just waking up, the combination of the soft breeze, the warm sun, the closed in spot, and the gentle movements of Keith planting seeds was all enough to make Lance sleepy again. But he didn’t sleep, he just let the feeling creep over him, enjoying it.

“What’re you planting?” Lance lazily muttered.

Keith, without turning at his words, scooped up a small handful of seed from a burlap sack next to him and placed them neatly in front of Lance, then continued planting. “Radishes.”

Poking the seeds around through the grass, Lance studied them. Although his father was a farmer and he had helped him out plenty of times, he wouldn’t be able to start his own garden, even if he were presented with the tools to do so. He picked a seed up and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger to inspect it. Then, turned back to Keith, who had finished planting all the seeds he seemed to want to plant. Reaching past the seed bag, he grasped the handle of the watering can he had brought with him and stood. Staring down, he watched as the water showered down on his newly buried vegetables. Lance watched too, resisting the urge to place his hand under the stream of water.

The watering seemed to take quite awhile, from what Lance observed, but he felt no need to complain as he was quite enjoying his time in the hidey hole that Keith’s garden was. The first time he had seen it, he had felt as though he were trespassing on a private scene that he wasn’t supposed to be apart of, as though he were invading Keith’s personal space and uprooting his secrets. Keith didn’t seem to think the same way about it, perhaps it was only a garden to him. But something about the way that Keith had been so protective of his plants and how he seemed uncomfortable having Lance ‘hover’ over him spoke differently to Lance. He guessed that Keith really cared about his vegetable garden and – although Keith wasn’t entirely willing – Lance felt a bit giddy being allowed to stay in this space. He wasn’t about to squander this opportunity. And so he kept his hand out of the watering can.

Keith finally finished watering and placed the can down, then lent over to tie up the burlap sack. If Lance ever said he had not been checking Keith out in that moment, he lied. Quickly, Lance averted his eyes when Keith stood back up fully and turned to him, although the red on Lance’s face probably gave him away.

“Let’s go.” Keith waited patiently for him to struggle into a stand and he noticed Keith cringing out of the corner of his eye every time he got too close to a plant.

Once he was back on his feet, he made his way back to the entrance to the garden and passed the tree, choosing to sit on the little ornate bench. He watched quietly as Keith stored the empty watering can away in the shed along with the seed bag, and he was right, the shed was filled with nothing but gardening tools. What had he honestly expected though? Much to his own amusement, there was indeed a hoe in the shed. He chuckled, low enough that Keith couldn’t hear it.

After Keith had locked the garden supplies away, he turned back to Lance and flicked his eyes to the house, indicating he wanted Lance to follow and Lance stood, trailing along back to the house. They passed the axe in the stump and continued on. At the front door, Keith held it open while Lance made his way inside and into the kitchen. He heard the door lock and Keith entered the room shortly after him.

“Leftover potatoes alright?” He asked as he made his way to the sink to wash his dirt-covered hands.

“Yeah, that sounds good, thanks.” Lance settled into his usual chair and propped his crutches up against the wall behind him.

Keith wiped his hands off on a tea towel he kept hung from the stove handle. “Have you changed your bandages yet?”

“Yesterday night I did.”

He stared down at Lance’s foot skeptically, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips thin. “You should change them again, you were in the dirt.” Setting about the kitchen, he skinned a potato from the day before and threw it into the pot, then he lit the fire below with a match from a box he kept near the hearth. “Do you need more clothes? Again; you were in the dirt.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll change my foot and my clothes. You’re such a mother hen.” He smirked at Keith’s scowl. “Or a mother kitty?”

“It’s a wonder I haven’t kicked you out yet.” He grumbled.

Lance laughed. “Aw, it’s because you care.”

“Gross, no.” Keith squinted at nothing in particular and tended to the potato in the pot. Lance only snickered in response. “Eat your potato.” Keith angrily scooped the potato out of the pot and into a plate to set in front of Lance. Once that was done, he disappeared into the hallway and Lance craned his neck to see Keith enter his room. A few moments later, he exited it again, this time with fresh clothes and the first aid kit. He stalked back towards the front of the house and met Lance’s eye before turning off into the other bedroom where he deposited the items, then made his way back to his own room again.

Lance waited for a minute, wondering if Keith was going to come back out with something else, but he never returned. Eventually, Lance ate his potato and retreated back to his room, slightly hurt that Keith didn’t want to spend time with him. But Keith wasn’t exactly the most social person alive, nor was he the most socially smart person alive either. And Lance couldn’t blame him, especially knowing what Keith’s story was. So, he sat on his bed, leaned his crutches on the frame, and maneuvered his way out of his clothes before dropping them on the floor and replacing them with the new ones that Keith had gotten for him. Then, gently, he undid the bindings around his ankle and cleaned off the twist with supplies that had been stored in the box. His ankle wasn’t swollen anymore, which was great, but it still was fairly painful to stand on. There was an icepack in the first aid kit and Lance decided to use it to cool his injury even if the swelling wasn’t there anymore. If it would help him get back on his feet sooner, then he didn’t mind.

As he stretched his arm down to ice his ankle, his shirt spread along his back and Lance had to admit that fresh clothes did feel good and comfortable on his skin. The damp freezing on his leg also felt refreshing and Lance revelled in the feeling as though it was magically lifting the injury away from his leg altogether. Once he was satisfied with it, he placed everything back into the medical box and set it on the desk as best he could from his seated position. Then, he shuffled his way back out of the room and down the hall in the direction of the adjacent bedroom.

Rapping his knuckles against the door, he waited. It felt oddly reminiscent of earlier that day but this time his knocks were answered. The door swung inward and Keith stared out at him.

“What is it, Lance?” Keith sounded exasperated.

“What’re you doing?” He tried to peer around Keith’s shoulder but the way Keith was standing combined with the limited mobility his crutches offered, he didn’t get very far.

“Working.” The simple answer came.

Lance frowned. “Working on what? You’re always being suspicious in there.”

Shifting uncomfortably at Lance’s questioning he turned to look off to the side. “Just Galra stuff. Did you need something?”

Somewhat irritated, Lance snapped. “No, I’m just bored! What’re you trying to hide?” He accused.

It caught Keith off guard slightly. “Hide? I’m not trying to–” He stuttered.

“What about our bonding moment yesterday?” Lance narrowed his eyes.

“ _Bonding moment?_ I don’t–”

Lance cut him off again. “Oh, so it wasn’t a bonding moment to you?”

“What? No! I mean, yes it was but– What does this have to do with me being in my room?” Keith looked thoroughly lost.

“I just thought you trusted me…” Lance finished dejectedly.

“Lance, I do trust you. I’m just trying to find leads on my brother.” Keith answered, seemingly relieved that Lance had stopped bombarding him with questions and accusations which he couldn’t make any sense of.

Lance stared at the other boy. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” He trailed off.

Keith hesitated again, similar to how he had in the garden, then making up his mind, he stepped out of the way of the door. “You can come in if you want?” It was phrased as a question, as if he wasn’t even sure what was going on.

Not wanting to intrude on Keith’s personal space again, Lance hesitated in the doorway, swaying on his crutches before curiosity won out and he took a step into the room. He had seen it briefly on the few occasions when Keith had opened the door to talk to him but he had never caught clear enough glances to realize it was anything like what he was seeing then as he actually stood in the room.

There were books everywhere, scattered about, stacked, on bookshelves, on desks, on tables, on the floor, open, closed, worn, new. All types. A skull was set on one of the shelves and Lance’s eyes widened. Was that an Altean skull? Where had Keith gotten that? Maybe he didn’t want to know. He noticed out of the corner of his eye, a jar under the desk with what was definitely an Altean finger tinged purple and he began to wish he had never entered the room in the first place. Another thing he noticed was that there were a lot of loose papers strewn about everywhere without rhyme or reason. A large wooden board hung over the desk and it was painted with blue symbols and sigils; hastily, yet precisely, smeared on. The table in the middle of the room was so full of stuff that Lance couldn’t even tell what colour the table itself was. Around the room were a lot of plants too. Mostly small ones, such as cacti in little pots, but there was one bigger plant too and despite the oddity that the room was, Lance smiled at the knowledge that Keith carried his protective plant love into the house as well. For how neat and orderly Keith kept everything else in his house and life, this room was a complete one-eighty from the Keith that Lance had come to know. It was a desperate culmination of anything and everything Keith could get his claws on that could possibly link to his brother. No wonder Lance hadn’t seen any memories of Keith’s family strewn about the house; because he kept them all tightly locked up in his hoarder bedroom.

Speaking of bedrooms, where exactly did Keith even sleep? Keith slept, right? He didn’t want to be that guy again, but was that another Galra thing? But then, he saw, in the corner of the room at the very back, half hidden beside a dresser and past the table, a couch. A small cushioned couch with a raggedy, old blanket tossed overtop. A pair of black shoes similar to the ones Keith always wore, yet slightly different, were stuffed underneath the couch along with a pair of socks and what Lance could only assume was a pair of black slacks.

Keith slept on a couch. Lance slept in a bed. From the very first night he had gotten to Keith’s house, Lance had slept in a bed. This entire time he had assumed that Keith would also have a bed but now that he really got a look at the room, he realized that the reason the house itself was so small was because it was a one bedroom cottage made for one person and Keith was sleeping in the office room. It seemed he had been there for awhile though and Lance had the feeling that Keith wouldn’t take the bed even if Lance weren’t there at all. Still, he felt guilty. He hadn’t done anything wrong but he couldn’t help it.

“What is all this…?” Lance asked in awe, picking up a small jar on the edge of the table in the middle of the room.

“Galra stuff. I’ve got some writings and samples. Other things too.” Keith shuffled some papers around on the desk up against the wall and Lance caught the corner of the fairy tale book he had borrowed off the shelf in his room. He was sure that he had lost it but Keith had it the whole time. At least he didn’t seem bothered by Lance snooping around the bookshelf.

Staring back at the jar in his hand he was greeted with a clump of purple fur and he nearly dropped it, startled. “This is really weird.” He muttered, grimacing at another jar on the bookshelf across the table which had a preserved purple rabbit foot in it. At least, he thought it was a rabbit.

Keith finished packing away his papers and turned to stare at the room. “I’m used to it.”

The more Lance stood amongst all the jars and skulls, the more he felt as though he was being watched. “How can you sleep in here? Is there even a window in this room?” He glanced at all the walls, coming up empty.

Leaning over his desk, Keith gripped the edge of the wooden plank with the blue markings painted on it and carefully lifted it off its hook. Behind it was a large window without any curtains. It looked out at the table and the shed in the backyard. Lance could vaguely recall a window being there but he hadn’t thought too much about it whenever he was outside. Once Keith was satisfied with what Lance had seen, he replaced the painting on the wall, covering the window.

“Doesn’t being in here alone freak you out?” Lance stared at the wooden picture.

“No. I slowly collected it all over the course of a year, so it sort of just grew around me.” Keith explained, moving to clean up as best he could.

“Why don’t you sleep in the bedroom?” Lance asked.

“I like being near my work.” The clinking of some jars and ruffling of some papers could be heard but Lance didn’t turn away from the picture.

He gestured to it while balancing on one crutch. “What’s that?”

Keith stopped shuffling, he turned to see what Lance was pointing at and didn’t say anything. He just stared at the blue markings, seemingly lost in thought. There wasn’t much noise to begin with but this silence felt heavier and more pronounced. Lance waited for a response, though, hoping his patience might encourage Keith.

“Just… a landscape… painting.” He muttered, returning to his papers to move them around, this time it seemed it was just for something to do however, because he didn’t seem to have a purpose with them and just left them where he had found them.

Lance considered pushing for more information but Keith had already opened his garden and his room up to him and Lance knew that some people needed time, so he would give it to Keith. Maybe one day Keith would tell him. Instead, he nodded. “It’s nice. Did you paint it?” His voice was light but there was slight disappointment in his tone.

If Keith heard this though, he didn’t say anything. “Yeah, I did.”

The silence after stretched on for ages and Lance had half a mind to continue waiting until Keith spoke but chose rather to break the silence himself instead. “Are you doing anything today?”

Keith stared for a moment at the table, eyebrows furrowing. “Not really, why?”

Lance shrugged. “Do you wanna hang out? We can’t really do any crazy, ninja sword fighting as long as my leg’s out of commission but we could do something else? I could show you how to bake?”

Eyes narrowed at the suggestion but Keith sighed and turned to glance at his desk. “Hm… I guess we could bake something…” He murmured, almost to himself. Then more towards Lance, he said. “Just let me finish what I was doing and I’ll be there.”

Lance nodded and shuffled his way out of the room, Keith following behind him to close the door after his departure.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Keith flipped through the book once again. He had read nearly all of it, and there had been a lot. Many notes were written in the sides and many charts on different paper were shoved into the crease of the book. He had gone through all of it, searching for anything, and here he was coming to the end of it. Desperately, he hoped and wished that something, _anything,_ useful would be there. This Allura person seemed very knowledgeable from what he had already read, but could they, by some miracle, have written something helpful.

 After lots of violent searching, he finally came to the last entry. It wasn’t titled. Every other entry had been named something to do with what the contents were but this one wasn’t. It was almost worrying. It didn’t help that the writing looked as though it had been scribbled on quickly and messily; a stark contrast to the rest of the journal. Another difference was that this entry used personal pronouns and seemed to be from the perspective of Allura unlike all the others which were very formal, almost like reports. Keith began to read, intrigued and yet scared of what he may discover.

 

_King Alfor has been in his crystalized state for quite some time now. I am unsure he will ever awaken. I worry about him dearly. Everyone has begun to doubt his existence at all, but what am I to tell them? That the Quintessence Crystal is their King? No, they would riot. They would not understand. It is not so simple. Earth would fall should he return to his Altean form. It is difficult to explain, but let me try._

_The Alteans and Galra are both very powerful but as long as King Zarkon refuses to be satisfied with his power, he remains a danger to the people of this land. They are matching in ability, so for King Alfor to use his magic to restrain King Zarkon, it puts a great strain on him and he is unable to stay in his Altean form. Instead, he is forced to condense himself as the Quintessence Crystal. This is what no one could understand. He risks his life for them, he risks so much. Should King Alfor fall, so too should King Zarkon, there is such a fickle balance between the light and the dark. One cannot exist without the other._

_The sealed gates of King Zarkon’s prison in the mountains are only capable of being sealed as they are because of the sacrifice King Alfor is making. But, the fairy tale is correct. Should the Galra and the Alteans make up, create peace and love, and unify, the seal would break and the gates would open. May that never happen. May King Zarkon never lay waste to this land again. I wish there were a way to return the cursed souls to the lives they once had but as long as the curse eats at their very humanity, they have no hope. Should King Alfor and King Zarkon be killed, it may reverse the curse, I am unsure. Many times I have asked King Alfor about this but he remains guarded on the subject._

_It is a selfish thought, but if King Alfor must die for the curse to be lifted, I am not sure I could choose._

_Perhaps this is why I could never take my place as head of this kingdom._

_– Allura_

Keith stared at the letter in slight disbelief. He turned the page but the very last sheet was blank. That was it. There was nothing else to read. He read the letter again. It was almost unnerving that it was the final entry and it contained a lot of information that Keith dubbed as vital. He was glad he had no given up as he was thinking of doing so many times. The notion of lifting the curse was in there, brief and unsure as it was, it still was there, clear as day. Keith almost shook from his excitement. An escape was so close. He might be able to find his brother, to help him, to help himself. When was the last time he had touched another living being? It felt like eons. Shiro used to hug him all the time and he would duck out of the embrace, adverse to being touched. But now, a year later, he would give anything just to hug his brother again. And Lance too. He wanted to touch Lance. He had been so close before and his skin had tingled with the idea of it, but he knew he couldn’t. Lance’s skin was so soft looking and his hands were so delicate, with long, precise fingers. Keith really wanted to see what Lance’s hand would look like intertwined with his own.

He shook his head and stared down at the book again. _You’re not the only one with selfish thoughts, Allura._ He thought to himself. It wasn’t only about him. With the curse lifted, Lance could return to Altea and see his family again. If the kingdom allowed, of course. He could return to Altea too. Was his house still his? Had they sold it? Had they destroyed it? Keith was getting ahead of himself with excitement and he forced his thoughts to calm down. One step at a time. He would see where he could go with this after hanging out with Lance. If Lance wanted to bake with him, then by Alfor, Keith was going to bake with him. Who was he to deny Lance of his enjoyment?

 _You’re in deep, aren’t you, Keith?_ The mocking voice in the back of his head sounded suspiciously like Shiro and he scoffed into the air before shutting the journal and exiting the room, locking the door behind himself.

He found Lance in the kitchen, wearing an apron and setting up everything they would need to bake whatever Lance had decided they were going to bake. Slowly, he approached the counter. He wasn’t sure how much he could restrain himself from hugging Lance at that moment with the weight of his new discovery. Instead, he skirted around Lance, giving him a lot of breathing space.

Once his presence was noticed though, Lance smiled at him, wide and bright, and Keith could do nothing but move closer. “So, what’re we making?” He hesitantly asked, attempting to hide his previous thoughts.

“Pie! Real pie. Since you seem to be confused on the difference between pie and melted rubber.” Lance explained, handing a Keith another apron and pointing to the sink.

Keith growled. “It’s the recipe’s fault.” After tying the apron around his waist, he began to wash his hands, still glaring.

“Sure it is, buddy.” Lance leveled him with an unimpressed stare. “I got the dough ready while you were being creepy in your den.” He kneaded the dough, really getting his upper arms into it.

Keith found himself wondering why he had wanted to hold Lance’s hand in the first place. “You still linger outside my door instead of knocking. But yeah, I’m the creepy one.”

Lance’s face heated up and his eyes widened as he slammed his fist a little too forcefully into the dough. “I do not and I am offended that you would even suggest such a thing!” Lance exclaimed.

“You still stare at my ears when you think I’m not paying attention too.” Keith smirked, leaning back on the counter and crossing his arms.

Lance, somehow, got even redder. “Is this your idea of a good time? Picking on the injured?” He glared at Keith but it was undermined by his deep blush.

Laughing, Keith stole the dough out from under Lance’s nose before he could even comprehend the movement. “You’re hardly injured.”

“I am!” He yelled, pointing down at his leg, which was bandaged.

“You’ll be fine to walk by tomorrow.” He retorted.

Lance scoffed. “I am injured, delirious, and you will not do this to me.”

“You’re delirious alright.” Keith snickered, kneading the dough. In truth, he was copying what he had seen Lance doing since he didn’t want to end up with a burnt mess of a pie again.

“There you go picking on the wounded again, Keith, you cruel person.” Lance shifted on his crutches and began readying some apples and other spices which Keith assumed he had already preheated in the pot while Keith was in his study.

“If you’re wounded, I am too.” He held up his still bandaged hand where the knife had cut.

Lance was silent for a moment, shaking the bowl of apple slices to spread the spices. “I’m more injured than you.”

“What kind of pissing contest is this?” Keith laughed, handing the pie crust to Lance while taking the bowl of apple slices.

Splitting the dough in two and rounding both pieces into similarly sized circles, Lance settled one circle into the pie sheet that he had set out. “Look, Keith, it’s not my fault I’m better than you at everything.” Lance sighed, feigning exhaustion, before glancing playfully at Keith, who had a scowl on his face, no longer laughing.

“Yeah, like sword fighting. Or gardening. How about–”

Lance spun on Keith. “Don’t say it!”

Keith’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “ _–salad making!_ ” He hissed.

Throwing his arms up as much as his crutches would allow. “Oh my god! This really is a pissing contest!” He yelled.

“Is this you admitting I’m right?” Keith teased.

“You’re impossible.” Lance dumped the bowl of seasoned apples into the pie tin and carefully set the top piece overtop.

Neither said anything more as Lance cut holes into the top and placed it on a piece of sheet metal, then set it on the fire in the hearth, with minor difficulty in bending over on his crutches. They both watched it for a moment before Keith dragged both chairs away from the table and set them in front of the fireplace. Lance used his crutches to ease himself down into the chair and Keith sat next to him, leaning as far forward as he could to stare at the pie in the fire.

“Do you have any board games?” Lance broke the silence after awhile.

Keith, who had been focused on the pie, almost forgot that Lance was there at all. “Board games? Do you really think I have board games?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I guess not.” Lance grew silent again and Keith felt like perhaps he should say something, but he didn’t

They continued to watch the fire some more, with Lance poking the pie tin around using the metal fire poker. He deemed it not ready and left it again. It was starting to smell like warm apples and cake. Keith’s mouth watered at the scent as it filled his nostrils and he mentally willed the pie to cook faster. The heat from the fire warmed Keith’s legs and he revelled in the feeling. His ears twitched in irritation at the heat, it being too hot for the more sensitive skin.

Lance spoke again. “We can play a talking game?”

“You talk a lot so I’m sure you’ll win.” Keith retorted, continuing to watch the pie.

“That sounded like an insult but all I heard was ‘you’ll win’ so I’m going to take it as you admitting I’m better at games than you.” Lance leaned back in his chair and pretended to check out his nails as a way to irritate Keith.

Turning away from the fireplace to stare at Lance with raised eyebrows. “That’s not even close to what I said.”

“Whatever, Keith. I know you secretly think I’m great, deep down in your dark, edgy heart.” Keith attempted to interrupt him but Lance held up a finger to shush him. “But, no matter. We are going to play an oral game!”

Keith grimaced and moved to get up. “Okay, no. We’re done here.”

Lance frantically tried to backtrack. “Verbal! I meant verbal game!” His face was on fire and his eyes were wide in panic. “Like Never Have I Ever, or Make It Or Break It!”

“What the hell is Make It Or Break It?” Confusion painted Keith’s face but he settled back into his seat once again.

Although his face had begun to cool again, there was still a slight pink tint which remained. “You think of your dream partner and then the other person names a bad trait or quality and you have to decide if you would still be with them or break it off. You both go back and forth until one of you decides to break it.”

Keith mulled it over for a moment. “Sounds lame, let’s play.” He nodded.

Lance instantly got excited that Keith had agreed and he shifted around in his seat to better face Keith. “Okay, think of your dream date.”

“Got it.” Keith smiled to himself.

Pausing, Lance studied his face, narrowing his eyes. “If it’s Mothman, Keith, I swear.”

Keith clicked his tongue. “Fine.” Then he thought again for a moment. His thoughts shifted and morphed as he tried to piece together a realistic representation of his perfect partner. Slowly, various traits came to mind; smooth, bronze skin; brilliant, blue eyes; short, russet hair; infectious, wide grins; long legs and dainty, precise fingers; wiggling eyebrows; blooming blushes; loud words and excited laughs; graceful, swift movements; adventurous ideals and familial compassion; flower crowns and soft breezes; passionate, open expressions; snarky comebacks with playful challenges; sweet scents; smirks and lidded eyes; breaths and near touches; genuine words and trusted secrets; storytelling and imagination; nicknames and terms; warm, homecooked meals; bickering conversations–

“Have you got it?”

 The voice broke through his thoughts, jarring him back to reality and he realized he had been thinking for a solid minute. He stared wide eyed at Lance, still waiting expectantly. Keith almost entirely forgot what they were even doing, getting so caught up in his mental pining collage, and he quickly turned to look at the pie, still in the fireplace, cooking.

“Yeah, I got it.” He coughed, hoping the crack in his voice would go unnoticed by Lance.

“Ooh! You’re blushing! I think? It’s hard to tell since you’re purple.” Lance pointed to his cheeks and Keith pulled away, startled.

“Shut up.” Keith mumbled, his blush deepening further with embarrassment.

Lance laughed and Keith’s heart sped up at the sound. “Alright, I’ve got mine too. Now we start naming bad qualities. I’ll start so you can get the hang of it.” He shifted around until his uninjured foot was curled up on the chair. “Okay, bossy. Make it or break it?”

Keith tilted his head in thought. “Make it. They’re already a little bossy.”

Lance’s grin became conspiratorial. “You like being told what to do, Keith?” He teased, voice low.

“Don’t make this weird.” Keith deadpanned.

Holding up a placating hand, Lance returned to his usual, easygoing smile. “I’m just kidding! Your turn.”

He sighed. What would be a bad trait that Lance wouldn’t like? Nothing too crazy, just a light, bad quality. Well, Keith himself knew he was aggressive, intense, and impulsive and no one had ever appreciated those qualities. Those could work. “Brash.”

Lance thought it over for a moment. “Make it! I can wrangle them in.” He winked and Keith’s heart jumped while his eyebrows pinched together.

“I regret this game.”

Smiling wide, Lance tilted his head back. “Alright, what if they were easily jealous?”

“Probably make it.” Keith glanced at the pie again.

“Why?” He leaned forward.

Keith considered the trait for another second. He didn’t exactly have anything to be jealous of so it didn’t seem like a deal breaker. “I just don’t think it’s that bad.” He shrugged. “Cold.”

“Cold?”

“Yeah. As in, emotionally distant.” Explained Keith, staring at the ceiling briefly.

Lance copied Keith and tilted his head back to study the ceiling as well. “Hmm… I’m not sure. I’ll say make it though, because I’m going to assume they have a reason and it’s not that they don’t love me.”

Keith, being somewhat emotionally distant himself, was surprised by this answer. His heart was beating out of his chest and every part of him felt charged. He turned to stare at Lance with his head still back. Lance didn’t seem to notice though and he continued speaking.

“What if they were weak?” Lance’s voice was quiet, almost sad.

Keith studied Lance’s face and he noticed that the smile he had previously had was no longer there. A weight dropped into his gut. Lance sounded so sincere and Keith wasn’t sure what to think of it. “Make it.” He said. His voice was stronger than he had thought it would be.

Lance’s head turned instantly to stare Keith in the eye. “Really?” A tinge of hope seeped through in his voice.

“Of course.” Keith answered. “Everyone is weak in some way. We just, y’know, strengthen each other?” It sounded like a question. “Or something.” He added as a safety net to his cheesy statement.

Lance’s cheeks blushed slightly and he stared at Keith for a moment longer than what Keith would ever consider to be normal. As much as he tried, Keith couldn’t bring himself to look away from the shimmering eyes one chair away from him.

“Socially inept.” Keith muttered.

“Make it.” Lance replied without hesitation.

Eyes narrowed in confusion, Keith responded. “But you’re the exact opposite.”

“Everything needs balance, Keith.” Lance laughed, sitting back up in his seat to poke the pie again. Keith remained where he was, turning back to the ceiling. “Pie is ready!” He exclaimed.

Keith knew that Lance would have trouble taking the pie out of the hearth and bringing it to the table with his busted leg so he heaved himself out of the chair, letting his head fall forward overdramatically. Reaching across to the counter next to the fireplace, he picked up the tea towel there, using it to remove the sheet metal from the fire. Then he stood and meandered toward the kitchen worktop. With the pie in one hand, he used the other hand to rummage through one of his shelves until he found a mangled, metal grill. After propping it up on the counter and setting the pie on the cooling rack, he moved back to replace his chair back at the table. Lance had gotten himself into a standing position by that time and Keith pulled his chair into its place too.

For the first time since they had first sat down at the fireplace, he really studied the pie. It looked extremely appetizing and infinitely better than the mess Keith had created. Steam drifted up from the pastry and Keith could smell the crisp scent of the apples and spices lifting off of it. The crust was golden and crunchy, small parts of it were browned and Keith’s mouth watered at the sight. It had been so long since he had had a pie, not because he couldn’t make pie, but because he didn’t. He didn’t make pie. And yet, here he was, Lance at his side, leaning over his creation with a blissed out facial expression. How domestic.

“When do we eat it?” Keith asked before he could stop himself.

Lance opened his eyes and glanced to Keith. “When it’s cooled down.” He moved back away from the counter to seat himself back in his chair. “So, not yet. Let’s play more games!”

Keith groaned. “No more Make It Or Break It.”

Lance waved his hands and shook his head. “No, no. We’ll play something else. You like True Or False?”

“What’s that?” Keith pulled his chair back and sat across from Lance.

“Man, you don’t know any games, do you, Mullet?” Lance draped over the table. “All you have to do is tell a story, it can be true or false, and the other person has to guess if you’re lying or not.”

“Seems easy enough.”

Lance beamed. “Great! I’ll go first!” He cleared his throat. “Get ready for one hell of a story, Keithy, my boy.”

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Keith cuddled into the blanket that was wrapped around his shoulders and pulled the plate in his hands closer, chewing the pie blissfully. The sweet tang of the apples filled his sensations and it was enough to make him cry. He inhaled deeply and made a noise that one may describe as a moan.

A small chuckle roused him from his pie-filled delight and he looked over at Lance through lidded, glowing eyes. The dark room made it difficult to see but with Keith’s eyes shining minimal light, they could see at the very least. Shadows cast along Lance’s face from the illumination. His smile seemed ever brighter when surrounded by the inky blackness.

“That good, huh?” Lance whispered.

“Not bad for an amateur.” Keith teased.

“Have I ever told you how cruel you are?” Lance chastised, although he smiled still. It had become somewhat of an inside joke between them, among other ones.

“Every chance you get.” Keith whispered, almost too fondly. He took another bite of the pie to distract himself.

Neither said anything for a moment, content to eat their pie. The room would have seemed too cold had it not been for the tiny fort of blankets and pillows they had set up on the floor next to the window, at the foot of the bed. Keith had collected as many comforters and covers he could find in the house and Lance had made them a hideaway. They were both wrapped in their own individual blankets, although Lance wore his as though it were a cape.

It had started off as a comfortable way to eat their pie and had quickly turned into sitting on the floor for hours playing stupid games and making their way through the pie. Eventually, one at a time, they had added the sheets from Lance’s bed, until Lance finally said fuck it and shouted excited phrases at Keith so he would go collect more fort materials. Which worked, of course, because Keith was weak to the will of an excited Lance. And thus, they ended up on the floor surrounded by their soft stronghold.

Keith hadn’t exactly planned to spend his entire day playing conversation games with Lance, but he definitely didn’t regret it. They had played until Lance had exhausted his entire library of games and they just relaxed and enjoyed more pie. Lance broke the silence, however.

“Keith, would you tell me a story?” He whispered again.

“I don’t have any stories.” Keith ate more pie.

“Then make one up.” Keith was about to protest until he saw the mellifluous expression Lance wore. He looked completely exhausted, yet happy.

So, Keith searched the far reaches of his mind for a story to tell. “Alright, let me think…”

Lance placed his empty plate over to the side and settled himself down onto his pillow, cuddling into his spot. Then he waited.

“Alright.” Keith shifted. “So, um, once upon a time, in space, there was a King named King Hunk. And this King wanted to find love. He wanted a Queen. So, he and his royal advisor, Coran, went looking around the nearby planets for any possible suitors. On one planet, they found a Queen named Queen Katie. She was very smart and King Hunk asked for her hand in marriage. But, Queen Katie would only accept if he agreed to her being in charge of all their weaponry, which he did.” Keith shifted the blanket on his shoulders.

“Except, on his way back to King Hunk’s planet, Coran overheard three alien orbs talking.” Keith dropped his voice to imitate one of the orbs. He felt entirely ridiculous but that was the way that Shiro had done it for him when he was little and he wasn’t about to change it. “The first orb said, ‘even if they make it back to the castle, it won’t matter, because a hoverbike will be waiting to pick them up and it will explode once they are near it, killing Queen Katie. The only way to stop this is to shoot the wheels out.’

 “And the second orb, thing, whatever, said, ‘even if they do that, it won’t matter, because once at the castle, there will be a bomb activated in the commander helmet given to the Queen, killing Queen Katie. The only way to stop this is to smash the helmet.’

“The third floating orb thing said, ‘even if they do that, it won’t matter, because once they finish assigning duties, there will be a grand feast for them and it will be poisoned, killing Queen Katie. The only way to stop this is to destroy the food.’ But, there–”

“Why is everyone trying to kill Queen Katie?” Lance sleepily interjected.

“I don’t know, just listen.” He shushed Lance and carried on with his story. “There was a catch. If Coran mentioned anything about what he had heard, he would go into a cryogenic frozen state and remain that way for ten-thousand years. Coran knew he had to do something though. And when their spaceship arrived on King Hunk’s planet and they all stepped off, there was a hoverbike waiting for them. So, Coran did what he had to and pulled out a pistol he kept for protection and shot the front wheel of the bike. King Hunk questioned why he had done this and Coran told King Hunk he would just have to trust him. And King Hunk did. They walked to the castle.”

Keith took a breath. He wasn’t used to talking so much at once.

“Go on.” Muttered Lance.

“Right. So, they got to the castle and there was a crowning ceremony, kind of. It was for Queen Katie’s new position as the weaponry commander. Anyway, right as they were about to give her the commander helmet, Coran swooped in and smashed the helmet into the ground. King Hunk questioned him again and Coran just said he would have to trust him. And King Hunk did.

“Next they went to the feast. Just as everyone was about to eat, Coran swooped in again and flipped the entire table of food. He’s super strong. All the food went everywhere and it was a disaster. King Hunk had been very trusting up to this point but that was something he couldn’t forgive. He sentenced Coran to be jailed. Except Coran couldn’t have King Hunk see him as a traitor, they were friends. So, he explained the entire thing with the orbs and the prophecy things. While he did, he began to freeze into his cryogenic state and once he was done his story, he had completely frozen over.

“King Hunk felt like shit, obviously, since Coran was just trying to help him out, and he kept the cryogenically frozen Coran in his extra room. King Hunk and Queen Katie got married, everything was fine, they had kids. Then one day, while Queen Katie was watching the kids, the frozen Coran spoke. He said that if someone were to cut off the heads of the children and smear the blood onto his statue, then he would be released from the ice. So, Queen Katie, knowing how much Coran meant to the entire kingdom and especially to King Hunk, cut the heads off her children and–”

Lance interrupted again. “Okay, Keith, what the fuck kind of bedtime story is that?”

Keith, genuinely confused, stared back at Lance. “Hansel and Gretel, why?”

“That is not Hansel and Gretel!” Lance threw his arms up.

“Yeah, it is!” He argued.

“Hansel and Gretel weren’t even in your version!”

Keith scoffed and folded his arms. “We didn’t get there yet because you interrupted me.”

Lance had shifted himself into a seated position and was squinting at Keith through the darkness. “Okay, fine. Skip ahead, what happens?”

Sighing, Keith quickly recapped the rest of the story. “Hansel and Gretel almost get eaten by the witch, but they don’t. Then they find a family whose sons were all turned into birds. Then they go up a mountain to open the door with a chicken bone but Gretel has to use her finger bone instead. Then they live in the woods for a year and Hansel turns into a monster. Eventually the kingdom captures Hansel and tries to eat him, and Gretel follows him but almost gets seduced by Satan–” Once more, Keith was interrupted.

“Keith, where did you hear that story because that is _not_ Hansel and Gretel?” Lance looked completely affronted.

“That’s just the way I was told!” Keith picked up his plate off the ground, then leaned over and retrieved Lance’s, before standing and letting the blanket fall from around his shoulders. “I told you part of a story, so go to sleep. Goodnight.”

As he was about to leave, Lance suddenly shouted. “Wait!” When Keith paused to hear what he had to say, eyebrows pinched, Lance began to chew his lip in what Keith could only assume was nervousness. “Stay here tonight.” It was barely a whisper and Keith wasn’t sure he had heard right for a moment. When neither spoke, Lance tried again with more conviction. “Sleep here.” He patted the spot in the blanket fort next to him.

Keith stared at Lance as if he had just grown an extra head. Sleep there? Next to Lance? Keith couldn’t do that, what if he accidentally touched him in the night? What if it wasn’t even an accident and his desire to interact with the other boy clouded his judgement? Was Lance a sleep kicker? Or worse, a cuddler? Was this about earlier when Lance asked why he didn’t sleep in the bed rather than on the couch? Thoughts raced through his mind and he just stood there, staring back at Lance.

Finally, Lance seemed to grow more nervous and broke the silence again. “It’s just like a sleepover, or something… You don’t have to, though…” His hand rubbed at the back of his neck and a slight pink tint dusted his cheeks, barely noticeable in the low visibility.

“I…” Keith began, still unsure of his words. “I might touch you…” He whispered. It was quieter than he had anticipated.

Lance stopped rubbing his neck but kept his hand in place. Round, blue eyes stared up at Keith in… hope? Disbelief? Happiness? Something which made Keith’s stomach flip. “We can put up a barrier?” He suggested. Before Keith could respond, Lance was already arranging the excess pillows to make a wall in the middle of the makeshift bed. “See.” Gesturing to his creation, he looked to Keith again with the same hopeful, disbelieving, happy expression.

Keith still hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he was still unsure of the validity of the pillow wall. Yet, the face Lance was making at him not only assured him that everything would be alright if he slept there, but also that everything would be alright in general. And he couldn’t say no.

Taking careful steps toward the desk by the window so as not to trip over the blankets, Keith set the plates on the wooden surface. Then he calmly removed his vest and folded it, placing it next to the plates. Next, he kicked his shoes off and pulled his socks off too. Finally, he removed his belt and let it clatter loudly to the ground. After he had disposed of everything, he moved back to the fort where Lance waited, watching him. He loosened the buttons on his shirt so he wouldn’t strangle himself in the night, then settled down on the edge of the bed beside Lance and carefully slid under the covers on his side of the barrier.

Lance, who was grinning ear to ear, shimmied his way under the covers too, but stared at Keith over the pillows blocking their faces. “Goodnight, sleepover buddy!” He whispered excitedly.

Keith stared up at him and attempted to level him with an irritated glare but it was difficult when Lance was smiling so genuinely. So, he settled for a deadpan. “Goodnight, Lance.” Then he rolled over and closed his eyes, preparing to sleep.

The silence of the room was peaceful and the darkness felt like a blanket around him. Normally, the lack of light shrouding his house, creating shapes out of nothing, whispering of dangers lurking about, it would all make Keith feel alone and hopeless. Not scared, but as though everything he did was leading to nothing and he would always end up back at square one. Those were the kinds of nights that drove him to sit at the small pond underneath the moonlight.

But there, curled in a fortress of blankets and pillows, stomach full of pie, and Lance at his back, he realized that he had never felt more hopeful of what was ahead. Instead of visions of failure, he could almost picture himself as being Altean again, hugging Shiro, holding Lance’s hand, returning Lance to his family, standing in his old house, in his old room. Lance was the solace that Keith had never had for his year in the forest. It all seemed so clear. He smiled, though he kept his eyes closed. Maybe everything would turn out just fi–

“Do you have claws on your feet too? Or is it just your hands?” Lance’s whisper halted his thoughts.

“Go to sleep, Lance.” Keith sighed.

What had Keith been thinking about Lance being a solace?

Whatever it was, he took it all back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I have a great idea for a fic and I make a well thought out plan, my sister, the romance consultant, always has to come and pop my delusional bubble.  
> "No, Sheksper, you ace fuck, a single week is not enough time to fall in love with a wanted criminal who kidnapped you."  
> Like fuck man why the hell not??? So many confusing romance rules.


	11. I'm Still Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter where everything is good in the world :)

Although most mornings, Lance would wake up to a sprinkling of light from both windows, but not that morning. That morning, he woke up warm, blinded, and right in the middle of the convergence point for the light. He blinked hazily, trying to remember where he even was before it rushed back to him. The sleepover with Keith. Ending up in a blanket mess on the floor. Ridiculous stories and pillow barriers. He quickly rolled over to check if Keith was still there but like every other morning, Keith had already woken up and was most likely out in his garden or in his room, being weird. Still, Lance couldn’t help but feel disappointed that Keith was not next to him, across the wall of pillows, which, surprisingly, had remained intact the entire night. The reason Keith woke up so early, Lance theorized, was because he was so quick to fall asleep. For Lance, he would pass out the second his head hit the pillow if he was exhausted enough, but Keith seemed to turn his unconsciousness on and off like a switch. One second, he was talking to Keith, and the next, Keith was making soft humming noises. At first, Lance had thought Keith was whispering to him, but he soon realized that Keith was just purring in his sleep. He had had to take time to silently scream at how cute it was and that had ultimately made it difficult for him to fall asleep.

Very difficult.

He laid amongst the blankets and listened for a moment, straining to hear any indications of Keith’s whereabouts, but it was silent. The giddy feeling he had been filled with the previous day he had spent with Keith was still residually affecting him and he decided right then that he wasn’t going to wander in the woods again. Instead, he would find something around the house to do. Keith didn’t have any board games in his house, which, Lance could admit had been a lot to hope for from someone who had lived alone for a year. But, maybe Keith did have something of entertainment in his home. Something that wasn’t holed up in his creepy Galran hunting den.

Lance rolled forward into a sitting position and pulled the blanket off his lower body. His ankle was still bandaged but it looked normal enough and Lance wondered if he would be able to walk soon. Using the bedframe to his left, he hoisted himself up, standing on his uninjured foot. Careful not to apply too much pressure, he shifted some of his weight over. He was hesitant at first but as he shifted, he realized it didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had before. Getting a bit arrogant, he took a step, promptly tumbling down into the pillow fort. A yelp escaped him as he fell.

Before he could get up, a door was opened somewhere in the house and footsteps rumbled through the hallway. His door opened and Lance stared up from the floor at Keith, his hand on the door and his eyes trained on Lance.

“What the hell are you doing?” Keith asked, confused.

“Well, what can I say? I guess I’m just falling for you.” He propped his hand up on his cheek and tried for his most charming wink.

Keith’s face got slightly redder but his tone remained the same unimpressed monotone as he ignored Lance’s comment entirely. “Were you trying to walk? You know your leg didn’t heal magically overnight, right?”

“Of course, I know that! I was just testing it out!” He huffed, letting himself fall back.

“You’re going to injure yourself more.” Keith sighed. “What did I expect though, honestly.” He turned to leave, dragging the door closed with him, but Lance stopped him before he could.

“Wait, Keith! Do you have anything to do around here? Anything?” Lance desperately gestured.

“Read a book.” More unimpressed monotonous answers.

Lance stared upside down at the bookshelf behind him in mild disgust. “No thanks. What else?”

“I don’t know, Lance, bake another pie.” Leaning against the doorframe, Keith crossed his arms.

Hauling his limp body into a slouch and releasing a low, petulant whine, he turned to stare at Keith. “C’mon! You have to have something? Keith?”

“Why are you so much more annoying today?”

“Because I want to have fun and you’re a wet sock.” Lance answered with a smug smile on his face.

Keith was unamused. “And to think I was about to tell you.” He began to close the door behind him.

Launching upwards and nearly tripping, Lance frantically attempted to stop Keith. “Whoa, whoa, wait! Tell me what?”

Paused in the door, Keith turned back to Lance. “Sit back down.” Then he went to leave again, calling back over his shoulder. “Try not to injure yourself.”

Lance curiously seated himself amongst the blankets. He had messed them all up in his struggle to stop Keith from leaving him there, the pillow barrier no longer in tact. Crossing his legs – using extra care with his ankle – he listened to the sounds of Keith rummaging around down the hallway while he waited. From what he could make out, and based on the simple layout of the house, Lance hazarded the guess that Keith was sifting through the storage closet where the first aid kit had been kept. Lance hadn’t looked through it for very long other than to grab the kit and the umbrella on two separate occasions so he couldn’t be sure what Keith was planning. Instead, he waited as patiently as he could.

Finally, Keith returned. Unexpected, however, was the guitar he held in his hand. As he approached Lance, he closed the door behind him, then gently handed the instrument off to Lance, who stared at in slight awe. It wasn’t exactly a nice guitar, it was obviously damaged and weathered with age, use, and mistreatment. That didn’t mean Lance was any less gentle with it.

Keith stepped around the blanket mess and moved to the windows where he opened one of them and removed a pane, setting it underneath the window, against the wall. Lance didn’t pay him much mid though, instead, he ran his hands along the edge of the body. Splinters of wood caught on his hands and he picked at one particularly large crack. The neck was mostly intact but the wood wasn’t the nicest. For a guitar, it was quite small and he couldn’t be sure it was even meant for an adult. Plucking at the strings, he found it was in tune. Surprising, considering the appalling state it was in. How could Keith treat an instrument so poorly?

Speaking of the boy, he had finished setting the window and moved to settle down next to Lance in the nest. A gust of air flew through the window and birds chirped. It made the room feel brighter.

“I knew you were a hardass, but even to your guitar? That’s a new type of cruel, Keith, my guy.” Lance tried plucking a few more notes.

“Yeah? Well, it’s hard to run from Altean guards when you’re carrying a suitcase and a guitar.” He absently muttered, staring at the instrument in Lance’s arms.

The empty look in Keith’s eyes jarred Lance for a moment, he immediately regretted his words and the cuts and cracks in the wood seemed a lot more telling than they had before. “I didn’t mean…” He trailed off, still softly trailing his hand along the wood.

Keith didn’t answer, but he did stare up at Lance, energy returning to his gaze, and he smiled. He then reached his clawed hand out and Lance let the guitar go, passing it over.

Setting it in his lap and plucking a few notes, he muttered over the sound. “Y’know, I made this.”

That was news. “You _made_ that?”

“Yeah. Dad helped me but it’s still kind of shitty.” His nose scrunched in thought and he picked up on his playing.

“It’s better than anything I could make.” He commented.

Keith snickered at that and then shifted his notes into a specific pattern, making it sound more like an actual song. “I know.” He said, before quickly adding a melody to his voice. “ _I found a little plot of land, in the Garden of Eden.”_ His tone shifted rapidly from high to low and back again. _“It was dirt and dirt is all the same.”_ The guitar rang out with gentle, calming tunes as Keith sang. His eyes were closed and his head bobbed with the inflections from the song. Lance had imagined his singing to be very different – not that he had ever imagined Keith singing – but he was pleasantly surprised to hear his voice was ever-so-slightly higher in a song, and much less harsh than his speaking voice.

“ _I tilled it with my two hands, and I called it my very own. There was no one to dispute my claim.”_ Lance was completely entranced by Keith’s song and he watched as Keith’s fingers moved expertly along the guitar. Some notes weren’t hit, but that had more to do with Keith’s claws getting caught on the strings. He kept his eyes closed and Lance was glad, he didn’t want Keith to see the blush he was most likely sporting. His heart was beating faster even with the calming song. The natural sounds from outside mixed beautifully with the music Keith was creating.

_“Well, you’d be shocked at the state of things. The whole place had just cleared right out.”_ The tune of the song shifted and Keith lifted his head more. Lance found himself swaying with the song and a huge grin spreading over his face involuntarily. _“It was hotter’n hell, so I laid me by a spring, for a spell–_ fuck.” His singing abruptly stopped and his yellow eyes opened to glare at the guitar. He had finally managed to get one of his claws wedged under a string causing him to have to halt his music. Pulling his claw out, he turned to Lance with what could only be described as a sheepish look.

“That was really good.” There were many more words that Lance could think of to describe what Keith had just done, but none that he felt he could voice without turning into a blushing, stuttering mess and having Keith laugh at him. Incredible. Magnificent. Amazing. Breathtaking. Unbelievable. Wait, was he describing Keith’s playing or Keith himself. He was going to blush again if he wasn’t careful. “What song was that?” Normally, Lance would have said some kind of bickering comment, but he was honestly stunned. The song wasn’t even that good, but Lance was blinded by the fact it was Keith sitting in a nest of blankets on the floor next to him with the window open and the birds singing. Somehow, even with the missed and messed up notes, even with the odd song, even with his busted ankle, it all couldn’t be more perfect.

“I don’t know.” Keith answered airily, smoothing his gloved hand over the front of the guitar’s body. “My family sang it a lot.” He tilted his head to stare at Lance.

“Do you know any other songs?” Lance leaned forward.

Keith considered the question for a moment. “I know the chords for a few.”

Lance smiled brightly. “Play another one.” He whispered excitedly.

Staring back at him, Keith paused for a moment, then he broke into a small smile and shifted the guitar in his hands, preparing to play. His fingers fitted along the strings and he paused briefly to collect himself, then he began strumming softly. Lance listened intently to the supple sounds emanating from the instrument as Keith played. It occurred to him after a moment that he knew that song. Usually it was more upbeat, with many more instruments backing it, but Lance could work with this. He remembered all the words, just barely, and he searched for an opening to slide into.

_“And I want a moment to be real. Wanna touch things I don’t feel. Wanna hold on and feel I belong.”_ Keith’s playing stuttered slightly before stopping at Lance’s singing. He stared, wide eyed at Lance for a moment, not speaking, then quickly picked up where he had left off, shifting his eyes to look at Lance out of the corner of his eye as he played. Lance, going along with it as best he could. _“And how can the world want me to change? They’re the ones that stay the same. They can’t see me, but I’m still here.”_

Keith laughed slightly but didn’t stop playing this time. Instead, he began bobbing his head and getting into the song. Lance found himself smiling through the lyrics. Keith’s playing slowed down. _“They can’t tell me who to be, cause I’m not what they see.”_ Lance flung his arms out to the side in a dramatic gesture. _“Yeah, the world is still sleepin’, while I keep on dreamin’ for me.”_ Lance clenched his eyes shut and laughed at the end of the note. Sucking in more air, he continued. _“And their words are just whispers and lies that I’ll never believe!”_ He dragged the last note for as long as he was able without collapsing. His head bent back and his hand on his chest. Keith’s guitar playing had gotten more enthusiastic and they were perfectly in sync. As he began running out of air, Keith suddenly let out an enthusiastic woot, causing Lance to cut his singing short with a startled laugh. He opened his eyes to watch Keith.

_“And I want a moment to be real! Wanna touch things I don’t feel! Wanna hold on, and feel I belong!”_ He rapidly picked up right where he had been before, although it was filled with a significant amount of near-laughter. Keith bobbed his entire body with the song and Lance couldn’t help but notice that Keith was playing with his claws instead of his fingers as best he could so they wouldn’t get in the way. Keith’s eyes met his again, and he smiled, large and genuine. Lance hadn’t ever seen Keith smile like that and it only renewed his enjoyment of the song. _“And how can they say I never change? They’re the ones that stay the same! I’m the one now, cause I’m still here!”_

With every hard stroke of the guitar, he punctuated the note with a punch to the air. _“I’m the one, cause I’m still here! I’m still here! I’m still here! I’m still here!”_ Lance belted the last line out with everything he had, curling his body as he rapidly ran out of air. As his singing trailed out, so did Keith’s guitar playing.

Both were silent for a moment, just staring at each other. Keith was still smiling, but almost absentmindedly, as he stared at Lance, who was sure he was also in the same state. “What the hell was that?” Keith asked, sounding more in awe than anything.

“Surprise, Keithy, I am the best singer in the world. But did you really expect anything less?” Lance cockily put a hand on his waist and lifted his head to the side so Keith could see his profile.

Keith’s awestruck expression dropped into one of someone who really didn’t expect anything less than overconfidence and bravado from Lance. Yet, it was still an endeared, almost fond, look, and it warmed Lance’s chest.

“I didn’t even know that song had lyrics.” He muttered, shifting the guitar around in his lap.

That pulled Lance out of his boastful act and he stared at Keith. “What?! How can you know it on the guitar but not the words?”

“I just don’t.” Keith defended. “Not everyone can spend all their time being professional singers who know all the lyrics to everything.”

Lance paused to squint at him. “The words were nice but the tone was not and I can’t tell if you’re insulting me or complimenting me.”

“Insulting.” Keith nodded seriously.

“Yeah, well, your singing is…”

A pause. “Yeah?” Keith challenged.

“It’s worse than mine is!” He finished with all the confidence of someone who had no idea what they were saying but were trying to pretend they knew.

Keith stared at him unimpressed and irritated. Then he began strumming the guitar again. Another song that Lance didn’t know. After a moment of gentle plucking, Keith let the lyrics roll off his tongue, staring bitterly at Lance. _“Doesn’t anybody know how to walk anymore? Doesn’t anybody know what a bandura’s for? Doesn’t anybody wear their hair down low? Doesn’t anybody know? Doesn’t anybody know?”_ This time around, Keith’s voice was much lower and it no longer held that flowing tone he had had in the first song, but Lance still enjoyed it completely.

_“Doesn’t anybody hate it when the night sky turns red? Doesn’t everybody want five more minutes in bed?”_ Keith tilted his body back, cradling the guitar with him as he sang, his eyes slipping closed. _“Doesn’t anybody, doesn’t anybody have a letter to send? Doesn’t everybody wish they had just one more friend?”_

Lance danced with his arms and upper body to the music, watching, fixed, as Keith lilted his voice on certain notes and his fingers ticked the strings. It was mesmerizing. _“’Cause everybody wants, and everybody needs. Everybody asks for one more piece. Everybody wants to hear someone say please.”_ He opened his eyes to stare back at Lance again, not breaking eye contact. _“And everybody takes, and everybody steals. Everybody cries when something feels. Everybody’s looking for the drug that heals…”_

The song trailed off. Lance, despite not knowing the song, was sure there was another part to it, and he was disappointed he wouldn’t get to hear it. Keith did have a lovely voice. It didn’t have nearly the range that Lance’s had and it was either harsh and loud, or a quiet whisper. There didn’t seem to be an in-between. Lance thought that was quite fitting though, since his speaking voice tended to be that way too.

They went through a few more songs, of which Lance sang them all. He wasn’t trying to hog all the musical time from Keith, but Keith seemed rather insistent on hearing Lance’s voice. _Who could blame him, though._ Lance smirked to himself, pretending his heart didn’t stutter at the notion of Keith loving his singing.

Eventually, however, all good things must come to an end, and as such, Keith had hunting to attend to and Lance milled about the house for the rest of the day, doing a whole lot of nothing.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

“How can you do that?”

“Do what?” Keith stared over his shoulder at Lance’s disgusted facial expression, confused.

Lance cringed. “Cut that up.” He gestured vaguely to the dead rabbit on the counter.

Keith glanced back to the animal. “It’s dinner.”

“It has a face.” Lance squinted uncomfortably.

“It won’t in a minute.” Keith picked up a knife from the counter and started to cut the lower legs off. Before he could get very far though, Lance made a loud screeching sound and covered his face with his hands. Keith whipped around. “What?!”

“Stop, stop, stop!” Lance rub his hands over his cheeks frantically. “Why doesn’t that bother you?” His voice cracked.

Keith, still thoroughly confused, stared at him with an incredulous look. “Just go somewhere else.”

“No, I’m supposed to help you make dinner!” Lance exclaimed.

“You don’t have to help me.” Keith turned to continue cutting the leg off the rabbit.

“Okay, but I _want_ to help you.” He turned his face to look at the ceiling so he could avoid watching the leg of the rabbit being chopped. “You need help anyway; you burned a pie.” Lance laughed, distracting himself and making the mistake of glancing toward Keith, subjecting himself to the sight of a rabbit corpse with it’s legs next to it, but not attached. Some blood spread across the paper that Keith had laid out on the counter. He made a whining noise of discomfort.

Keith grinned and peered out of the corner of his eye at Lance. “You want to help?” His voice was teasing. “If you insist. My hand hurts a bit.” Dropping the knife, he twisted his bandaged hand around in a circular motion and feigned pain. “Could you prepare the rabbit for me?” Smirking, he stared at Lance.

“Okay, never mind. I no longer want to help.” Lance shivered, shifting his gaze to the rabbit again.

“That’s what I thought.” Keith picked the four leg stumps up and tossed them into the rumbling fire.

Once again, Lance made an exaggerated squeal of unease.

“I’m about to skin this.” Keith warned. “If you want to leave, now is the time.”

Lance shook his head and clenched his eyes shut. “I just won’t watch.” He mumbled.

His crutches were leaned up against the table and he could easily have pulled himself up from the chair he was sat in. He could have left the room and gone to his own room or outside. Nothing was keeping him chained to the kitchen. But he didn’t leave. The reason for that – which he would never formally admit to – was that he enjoyed the routine of cooking with Keith. Whether it was side by side with him, watching him, or Keith watching Lance, all were fine, he just appreciated the comfortable domesticity of it. He had always been used to making dinner with his family. Sometimes he would help and sometimes he would just watch, but it didn’t matter because it was a simple and warming activity. They didn’t even need to talk to each other, just to exist in the same room gave him a fuzzy feeling. Perhaps he was projecting a bit onto Keith, after all, it seemed to only be a standard must on his part. But no matter the reason, Lance wanted to be near Keith around dinner.

He tried to ignore the sounds of skin being peeled from muscle but it was the only sound he could hear since the rest of the room was empty. So, he decided to fill the space with his own noise.

“I can’t listen to this. We’re playing a game now, okay?”

“Lance, I don’t want to play–” Keith was cut off before he could turn Lance down.

“Great! You have to name a word that starts with the last letter of the word before? The theme is animals! I’ll start: deer.”

The ripping sounds paused for a moment. Then they resumed and Keith answered. “Rabbit.”

“That’s not funny.” Lance huffed.

Keith snorted anyway and continued to prepare the food. “It’s an animal and it starts with R.”

Lance imitated Keith in a nasally, high pitched parody of his voice. “ _It starts with an R.”_ Then his tone returned to normal. “Whatever, Mullet. My turn. Trout.”

“Trout?” Keith said, as if he had never heard anything so ridiculous.

“Yeah! It counts, it’s an animal.” Lance felt weird speaking to Keith with his eyes closed, listening to everything but choosing not to see.

“Whatever. Toad.”

Lance scrunched up his nose as the smell of the rabbit grew. “Duck.”

“Koi.”

“What letter is that then?” Lance asked.

The noises stopped again. “Hmm… An I.”

“What! Nothing starts with an I.” He cracked an eye but only stared at the fire, refusing to stare in Keith’s direction.

“I can think of two at least.” Keith countered.

“Uh…” Lance thought back to every animal category he could think of. “Ibis.”

“Mm, I didn’t think of that one.”

Lance laughed. “I’m just a genius, feel free to shower me in compliments!”

“Snake.” Keith responded. “That’s also my animal choice.” There was a playful, yet smug, lilt in his tone.

“Okay, rude. Did you just call me a snake?” Lance was tempted to bore holes into Keith’s head but that would require opening his eyes, and he really didn’t want to see the rabbit being mutilated.

“If the shoe fits.”

“Yeah, well you’re a cat!” Lance tossed at Keith.

More slicing sounds were heard and the smell only grew more crude. “Wow, you’ve only used that one, what, a dozen times?” Sarcasm was dripping from his voice.

“Mullet.” He murmured. “Okay, eel.”

“Lion.”

“Newt.”

“Turtle.”

Lance paused. “Uh…” He couldn’t think of another word beginning with E. The scent from the rabbit distracted him. “Ugh, why does it smell so awful?” Lance plugged his nose with his shirt.

“Oh, sorry. I need to remove all the intestines and–”

“Ah, la, la, la!” Lance shouted, blocking out the rest of whatever Keith was going to say. “Let’s play a different game!”

Keith sighed. “What game?”

“Hmm… Two truths and a lie. You start.”

Keith shifted around in the kitchen and something was tossed into the fire, creating a loud sizzling and cracking sound. Lance could only presume it was the internal organs of the rabbit and he cringed. “My dad was a wood worker. I’m taller than Shiro even though I’m younger. And I wanted to be an Altean Royal Knight when I was a kid.”

Lance considered this. “I’m going to say the lie is that you’re taller than Shiro because you’re not taller than anyone.” Lance snickered.

Suddenly, something slapped against the table next to him and against his better judgement, he opened his eyes and turned to look at it. After picking it up and inspecting it, he realized that Keith had thrown a small piece of bloody rabbit skin beside him. Shrieking, he tossed it away, watching as it landed on the floor.

Keith, the evil jerk, chuckled to himself and turned to peel the skin off the ground, then chucked it into the fire. “You’re right. Your turn!” He said, cheerily, yet still clearly snooty.

“You’re the worst.” Lance hissed, although it sounded more petulant than anything. “I’m allergic to bees. I’ve broken my arm four times. And I can bend my thumb to my arm.”

Keith’s knife cutting picked up and Lance assumed he was finally getting around to making it into pieces. “There’s no way you can bend your thumb to your arm.” Challenged Keith.

“Ha! You’re wrong, I can.” Lance puffed his chest out.

This caused Keith to whip around, staring at Lance, knife still in his hand. “Show me.”

Lance smiled and used one hand to push the thumb of his other hand down until it pressed into his forearm.

Keith’s face contorted into one of disquiet and he squirmed slightly. “That’s so weird.” He mumbled.

“You think this is weird but what you’re doing to that rabbit is totally fine?” Lance pointed out, disbelievingly.

“This is natural.” Keith moved back to his cooking.

The pair continued, back and forth, sharing different facts about their lives in the form of a game. Lance laughed and smiled at the new things he learned about Keith, everything from his favourite food, to the time when Keith had gotten into a fight with an older kid from his neighbourhood and knocked the kid’s tooth out. Lance also shared his own stories and facts about himself. Keith seemed to enjoy his stories; laughing, smiling, and asking questions where it was appropriate.

All the while, Keith prepared dinner for the two of them. He dropped the meat into the pot above the fire as he usually did and he added all the spices that Lance had seen him add before, causing Lance’s mouth to water at the memory of previous dinners. Vegetables were cut and the rest of the rabbit which Keith didn’t cut up was wrapped up and placed in the crate of ice that was kept below the counter.

Before long, dinner was finished and Keith set Lance’s plate on the table in front of the boy at the table. He moved Lance’s crutches out of the way and sat down across from him. They both ate and conversed, sharing more stories and facts. It eventually turned into a form of twenty questions. They had gotten to know each other pretty well for all the time they had spent together but they hadn’t learned any of the useless, small things that didn’t really matter. At least, normally they didn’t matter. Lance, however, very much cared about these useless, small things that didn’t really matter.

“What’s your favourite drink?” Lance asked as he chewed.

Keith thought for a moment. “Water, I guess.”

“Why? That’s so boring!”

“Yeah? What’s _your_ favourite drink, then?” Aggressively asked Keith.

Lance, leveled his eyebrows. “Eggnog.”

“Eggnog?”

“Yeah, eggnog.” Lance would fight anyone and everyone on the glory that was eggnog and he couldn’t understand, for the life of him, how someone could just _not_ like eggnog. He was only graced with it during the holiday of Christmas, his favourite holiday at that. They had already gone through that question, though. Keith’s being Thanksgiving.

“Eggnog is disgusting.” Keith spat.

“Eggnog is better than your entire attitude, suck it, Keith.” Lance continued eating.

“I bet you also have a stupid favourite book too.” Keith looked mildly irritated, but there was an underlining smile there that Lance could see.

“I don’t have a favourite book, jokes on you.” Lance smirked. “What’s your favourite? _Cryptozoology in the Woods_ or something?”

Keith scoffed. “It’s _Aviation and Aerodynamics_. Asshat.”

“That’s… actually kind of cool…” Lance’s demeanor shifted but he was still a little hesitant to admit it. “Jackoff.” He finished, laughing.

“Fuck you.” Keith smiled. “What’s your favourite cryptid?” He shoved another piece of rabbit meat into his mouth.

“C’mon, Keith! Really?” Lance sighed, dropping his shoulders.

“It’s a valid question! You asked what my favourite joke was, don’t ‘c’mon, Keith, really’ me.” He narrowed his eyes and pointed his fork at Lance.

“Ugh, fine! We already know what your favourite cryptid is anyway…” Lance stared at Keith for a moment, considering all the cryptids he had been told about. One stood above the rest though, and he was almost embarrassed to say anything at all. “You.”

“Hmm?” Keith tilted his head.

“You. You’re my favourite cryptid.” That was probably one of the strangest things Lance had ever said to anybody and he wasn’t sure why he was blushing, but he was.

Keith didn’t respond, just stared. Then slowly, he finished chewing and swallowed before speaking. “Are you flirting with me?”

“What?” Lance was slightly taken aback but his face tinted red even further and his voice squeaked.

“What a compliment.” Keith shook his head, smiling, and continued eating.

Lance, now completely baffled, followed his lead and ate some more.

The second Keith had cleared his plate, he stood and washed it quickly in the sink. Speeding off, Lance didn’t even have time to register what was happening before Keith had already slammed the door to his room behind him.

Silence filled the kitchen once again. Even when he and Keith hadn’t been speaking, there was still the clinking of cutlery and the shuffling of food, but as he occupied the dinner table alone, he suddenly felt suffocated by the noiseless atmosphere. What had that been about? Why had Keith left so quickly? Lance’s company wasn’t that bad, right? _Probably another Galra thing or something…_

The rest of Lance’s meal was eaten in the same encasing silence.

After he decided he was done, he heaved himself from the chair and gingerly limped to the sink. Scrubbing his plate, he stared absently into the stream of water. He glanced to his crutches against the counter. Earlier, he had managed to figure out how to stumble his way around without his crutches. It was only light weight he was able to place on his injured foot but at least he was able to move without the support.

He set his plate in the cupboard and grabbed his crutches, heading back to his room. Before he could even leave the kitchen, however, the door to Keith’s room flung open and Keith came rushing out, carrying a book and a collection of papers in a folder. He nearly dropped a couple pages in his flurry as he rushed down the hallway. His ears were propped up unnaturally straight and his eyes were glowing as much as they had been in the woods the night he came to help Lance.

Lance stumbled back, nearly being hit by the frantic man, startled.

“Lance! Hey, I’m going out, I’ll be back. Just, uh, don’t worry about it! Alright, bye!” Keith’s voice was high and excited as his head shifted between Lance and the front door. Lance couldn’t tell – due to the structure of Keith’s eyes – but he was sure that if there were pupils there, he would see Keith’s eyes switching between the door and Lance as well.

“Wait, Keith–” His sentence fell on deaf – furry – ears as Keith shouldered the door to Lance’s room open and came hurrying back out without his papers. Lance stared in shocked fear and confusion. Keith yanked his sheathed sword off the hook next to the door and clipped it to his waist, then threw his jacket on, barely bothering to secure it over his shoulders before he was dashing back into Lance’s room. He left once again, this time with all his books and papers as well as the lantern. “Keith, what the hell are you doing?” Lance asked angrily, masking his worry and alarm.

“I’m, uh, bird hunting?” He phrased it like a question, further invalidating the legitimacy of his claim. When Lance stared at him, completely horrified at the amount of wrong in that situation, Keith paused for a moment. “I’m sorry.” He muttered. Then, before Lance could even spare a word, Keith had scrambled out the door.

Lance stared after him, bewildered and panicked. “What the fuck, Keith?” He muttered under his breath before narrowing his eyes and determinedly following after Keith as quickly as his semi-injured foot would allow.

Keith was really legging it through the woods, Lance was having trouble keeping him in sight. Well, he wasn’t really able to see Keith at all through the darkness, but he was following the light emitting from the lantern which Keith was carrying. The darkness surrounded him and he was beginning to feel a gripping terror as Keith hurried down the path and off into the woods, farther and farther from Lance. The pain in his foot was starting to numb and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was a result of his desperate desire to be near the only source of light aside from the house or if it was because he was getting used to the radiating sting.

The light in the distance suddenly darted off to the side, out of view. Lance panicked for another moment and then rushed a little faster, his crutches nearly dragging behind him as he hurried. The night air was cold and bit into his skin through the clothing. Every footstep he made crushed underbrush and made a cracking sound. He nearly tripped multiple times, but he continued on. Something moved to the left of Lance and he quickly whipped his head around to see what it was. Nothing was there. His heart beat faster and his breathing picked up. Images of his near-death experience came back to him and he pushed on even harder after the bobbing light that he could no longer be sure was anything more than a firefly.

Eventually, the light stopped moving, stopping at the base of a mountain. Keith was still gripping all his papers and the lantern. The Galran man stepped into the mouth of a dark cave, partially hidden from view. Lighting up the cave, he continued on, completely unaware that Lance was right behind him, still heaving from his panic. Lance stumbled up to the opening in the mountain and entered cautiously. It occurred to Lance that that was all very suspicious and that he shouldn’t trust the situation he had somehow – literally – stumbled into. Yet, he didn’t care, he was worried for Keith and for himself. He knew Keith had been hiding something from him.

As he tentatively stepped into the cave, Keith’s illuminated figure came into view, standing next to the wall and tracing his hand along the stone. He still hadn’t noticed Lance. “Keith?! What is going on?!” Lance frantically shouted. Completely exhausted from the extra energy it required to run on his injured foot, Lance leaned his hand on the cave to stop himself from falling.

Keith frantically turned, wide eyed and startled, to Lance. The lantern swung and he opened his mouth to speak but before he could say anything, there was blue.

The entire cave irradiated with a blue glow. At first it was a light tint but it rapidly grew in intensity until it was nearly blinding. Lance stared, scared, at the walls and saw the light was coming from carvings. Tons and tons of carvings in the walls. Pictures and symbols. He realized they looked familiar, some being the exact same as the painting he had seen in Keith’s room.

“The unification.” Keith breathed.

Lance whipped around to stare at Keith and he saw his own fear reflected back in Keith’s eyes. “The what?” Lance asked, tears prickling in his eyes, unaware to anything that was happening.

The blue light evened out and Keith frantically turned around to stare farther into the cave. Lance followed his gaze. There, at the back of the cave, the blue light began to manifest, shifting and forming into a solid being. It radiated and rippled as if the light were alive. An arm became detailed and slowly the rest of the limbs copied.

The sound of glass hitting the cave floor and shattering pulled Lance out of his frozen fear. Keith’s lantern was broken on the ground, surrounded by papers. Keith slowly removed his coat and dropped it next to him, reaching for his sword. It singed as it was slid out of its sheath. “Lance.” Keith whispered, not breaking his eye contact with the light being. “Run.” It was a demand.

“Keith, what–” Lance was shaking.

Light disappeared from the figure and it finally stepped forward, fully formed. Armour encompassed the entirety of his body, swooping out in giant shoulder shields. It glowed a bright purple, matching his skin. Strong jaw set and eyes glowing, he stepped forward, the sound radiating through the entire cave. Atop his head was some form of crown that double as a helmet and his claws extended to the length of his fingers. A pink scar trailed down his cheek like some form of battle paint. Lance’s blood ran cold at the sight of him and he felt his legs turn to jelly. The being stepped forward again.

“Lance.” Keith warned, louder. Lance turned to Keith. His legs were shaking slightly and his hand appeared uncomfortable gripping his sword but his eyes were narrowed in determination. Or perhaps fear. Lance couldn’t tell.

“Keith.” He answered back, hoping upon hope that if he were to run, Keith would be right beside him.

“Lance, go!’ Keith whirled to stare at him and right in that opening, the creature stalking closer decided to lunge for Keith. Lance shrieked as the incoming blow was imminent. Keith stumbled backwards, breathing stuttered. “Run! _Run!_ ” The words tore from Keith’s throat as he crawled back and away from the monster’s attempts to catch him. His cries were everything desperate and frantic, and Lance did the only thing he was sure would help Keith in that moment.

He ran.

He ran, heading for Altea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in the songs they sang, here they are in order;
> 
> '81 - Joanna Newsom  
> I'm Still Here (Jim's Theme) - John Rzeznik  
> Everybody - Stabilo  
> (I changed some of the lyrics on the last one though because radios and street lights don't exist in this time period)


	12. Humanity Hath Fallen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This goes from soft woods fic to Keith whump fic really fucking fast so buckle your seatbelt and please keep arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times. Thank you.

Shiro stared up at the sky above him. It had been bright and blue moments earlier, perfect weather. But suddenly, everything drastically darkened. The sky had darkened before, usually indicating rain, or maybe a cloud had passed over the sun momentarily. This was not that, however. The sky had never before glowed. A threatening purple glow coloured the trees around him. He stared down into the water his rowboat was floating on, staring at his reflection. The white strip of his hair appeared more lilac, matching the rest of his skin.

It wasn’t right.  The sky never glowed, and certainly not purple. He had come to learn, from his year in the woods, that purple was never good. It suddenly dawned on him what exactly it was. Shiro dropped his makeshift fishing rod into the boat next to his leg and quickly positioned the oar above the water. Dunking it in, he pulled it back, gliding it through the water and forcing the boat forward. He needed to get to the land and fast. Whatever was happening, it was surely something to do with Altea.

Rowing was quite difficult since he only had one arm that worked, and it wasn’t his dominant. The slow going of his boat hadn’t bothered him before, but he hadn’t been in any sort of rush before. His right arm had been useless for awhile, though. Enough damage had been done to it in the many fights he found himself in. It was as if the other Galra in the woods were wild animals rather than prior Alteans; walking on four limbs, snarling, growling, baring their teeth. He had tried to reason, but that had been pointless. The lack of function in his right arm as well as the scar across his face being the proof.

Many times, he had considered just cutting it off himself instead of letting it hang uselessly by his side, at least then it wouldn’t get in the way, but that would just mean dying of blood loss and that wouldn’t do him good either.

Water splashed around him as he frantically paddled. Rain had started up, plopping into the lake around him, getting heavier and heavier. It slicked his hair down into his face and he attempted to remove it with a flick of his head. That did nothing. The rain was plastering it to his forehead and he couldn’t be bothered to waste time brushing it away with his hand when he could be rowing. It was taking enough effort just to switch the paddle between the two sides of the boat so he wouldn’t go in circles.

His heart beat faster as he rowed, nearing the edge. Finally, once he was close enough, he stood and leaped the small distance between his craft and the grass. He narrowly missed taking a plunge into the water, balancing before he could. The bucket of freshly caught fish he had in the boat was forgotten and he raced away from the lake and to small village he could see silhouetted in the distance. His clothes were heavy on his body, the rain gluing them to his skin and weighing him down. He could hear the sloshing of the puddles beneath him. His chest heaved. Never had he seen such heavy rain. It was enough to drown him if he wasn’t careful.

As soon as he was at the village, he wasted no time in jumping the fence, nearly slipping on the water casing the cobblestone path on the other side. His house was only a little way in and he flung himself around corners and down alleyways as fast as he could. Finally, he reached the run-down house he had picked to be his shelter when he had first entered the village. It wasn’t very big, but it didn’t need to be, since Shiro was living alone. The small size just made it easier for him to find what he needed quickly, anyways.

Leaned against his bed was an old sword he had pillaged from a different house. He grabbed it and shoved as much food as he could fit in a burlap sack he kept. Positioning it as best he could around his non-functional arm, he slid it onto his back. There was a small parka in the back of the house, made for someone smaller than himself, but it was there and it would work, so he retrieved it from the back closet and forced it over his head. At the very least, it would protect him from any further downpour.

Then he was gone. He didn’t bother to lock the door like he usually did, following his instincts to where he could remember Altea was. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he wouldn’t be coming back to that house for awhile, if at all.

The rain was still pouring, but his makeshift poncho was doing its job in protecting him as he sprinted through the town. Every house he passed was empty, as it had always been. Eventually, he came to the edge of the woods, not hesitating to enter. It was late in the night, and perhaps it would have been wise to bring a lantern, but the glowing of his eyes was good enough for what he was doing and he needed his hand to be free in case he was attacked by another Galra, or worse. Altean guards.

Altea was quite a distance from where he was living, he had made sure of that when he picked his shelter. It wouldn’t be any easy trek, but he had to get there as fast as he could. The purple swirling could only mean King Zarkon. Memories returned to him of his time as a Royal Altean Knight when Princess Allura had confided in him, as one of the head knights, that King Zarkon really was being sealed away like in the fairy tale. She dreaded the day he was released. Her story detailed that the sky would tell of the King’s return. If that wasn’t the sky telling it, then he didn’t know what would be.

King Zarkon had been released. The entire land was in danger. Allura was in danger. _Keith was in danger._

He hadn’t seen Keith in a year and suddenly his heart clenched. Forcing his feet to move, he pushed himself faster through the woods. There was no way Shiro was leaving Keith in Altea. If there was one place King Zarkon would head to first, it was Altea. Keith could hold his own, no doubt, but not against something as magical and powerful as the fated Guardian of Darkness.

Keith would surely die.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

King Zarkon. It all slotted into place. There really was a gate keeping King Zarkon at bay. And he had broken it. He and Lance had, anyway. The unification of the Galra and the Alteans. That could have meant a million things. But it meant a Galra and an Altean were the literal keys to King Zarkon’s cage. And they had released him.

King Zarkon approached leisurely and Keith brandished his sword ahead of him. His knees felt weak and his heart raced. The handle of his sword slipped slightly from the sweat his hands released. His throat was dry, his mouth feeling full of cotton. Anger and fear flowed through his veins all at once as he stared into the eyes of the creature that had forced the curse on him. His ears twitched.

Lance had run away already, thankfully. As long as he was safe then Keith could focus on not dying at the very least. His own safety was much less of a worry to Keith than Lance’s but that didn’t mean he wasn’t terrified of the monster in front of him, swaying his bulky mass as he approached Keith. Each footstep echoed around the cave, ringing in Keith’s ears along with the sound of his own heart pumping. His body was on overdrive, screaming at him to get away as quickly as possible, but everything around him moved slowly, calmly, too calmly.

Tilting his head forward slightly, he narrowed his eyes and attempted to appear as menacing and unafraid as he could pull off but he wasn’t sure how convincing it was considering King Zarkon just stared at him.

Suddenly, his large, clawed hand shot out to grab at Keith, but he grasped at air as the boy jumped back. And that was the beginning. All calm demeanor had left the King and he advanced on Keith rapidly, swiping and punching at him. Keith continued to duck and swerve around the hits. A rock in the cave floor overthrew his balance as he landed half on it during a jump and as he struggled to regain his footing, Zarkon took hold of the opportunity. The giant hand slammed into Keith’s chest, forcing him back into the wall. A heavy huff of air was forced from his lungs and he stumbled up to his feet. Back aching, he readied his sword again.

The memory of the journal’s final entry came to his mind at that moment. As uncertain as Allura was about the curse reversal, it was better than nothing. A thread of hope, a shred of possibility. To reclaim his Altean form would mean everything. He could return to Altea, Shiro may return too, free of the Galra curse if he wasn’t already. Keith might have a future with Lance, whatever that might mean. He knew the type of relationship he desired, but if Lance wanted nothing more than a fast hug before cutting off all contact with him, then Keith would be willing to fight a ten-thousand-year-old King with the power to strip him of his humanity just for that. And how many people would be freed from execution at the ending of the curse? That fight meant everything.

Keith was pulled from his thoughts as Zarkon addressed him. “Still with some of your humanity?” He stalked closer. “Fighting it will do nothing. I have a curse to spread and a kingdom to rule.”

Snarling, Keith hunched his shoulders in rage. “You’re sick!” He hissed.

“No. Alteans are sick and selfish. Alteans are filled with so many sick thoughts. I just bring them to the surface for everyone to see.” His glowing, purple eyes seared into Keith’s skull. “The Galra curse is the true nature of Altean kind.”

“Stop talking!” Keith yelled, then rushed forward. He stabbed his sword at King Zarkon but it was easily dodged. Twirling around, he thrust his sword out again. Zarkon just grabbed it with his purple hand and lifted Keith off the ground. Swinging it around to gain some momentum, he flung Keith further inside the cave. This time, Keith managed to turn his landing into a roll. Glaring at Zarkon with laser focus, he suddenly sprinted at him again. When Zarkon made a move for him, he swiftly dropped into another roll, hopping up on the other side of Zarkon. Before the King could react, Keith plunged his sword into his back where the armour exposed a portion of his skin. Zarkon let out an annoyed grunt of pain and moved to hurt Keith again. The hand wrapped around and Keith had no time to yank the sword out of Zarkon’s back and hurry away before it smacked him across the cave again.

“You may have a sword, but its power is weak in your fledgling hands.” Zarkon approached and Keith forced himself to stand despite the pain in his legs and back. “You are weak.”

“Shut up!” Keith shouted. His ears were flattened and his teeth were bared.

“You are a monster. A worthless living being.”

Keith shoved the pain to the back of his mind and rushed Zarkon. He danced around him and slashed at the King’s armour. Zarkon swiped the sword out of the way for every hit that may have actually done any damage but he let the rest scrape his breastplate since they did nothing. Desperately, Keith fought, but it got him nowhere.

“Your soul is infected.” He muttered.

“Fuck you!” Keith growled.

“You unwanted, sick, creature.” Zarkon calmly reached out to grab Keith’s rapid moving form by the collar of his shirt, lifting him off the ground. Keith let out a startled yelp and dropped his sword accidentally. Face to face, Zarkon hissed at the boy’s frightened yet defiant eyes. “The curse wouldn’t affect you if you were worthy of anything.” He shoved Keith down, releasing him from the metal grasp that had been around his neck.

Keith coughed before searching around for his weapon. Across the cave, near the entrance, he spotted it. As he was about to make a dash for it, Zarkon suddenly loomed over him. Even if Zarkon hadn’t been there, Keith’s legs were practically useless for any fast-paced movement. He stared up at Zarkon before frantically somersaulting to the end of the cave. He reached the weapon, swiftly gripping it and spinning on his back along the floor. The point of the sword aimed up at Zarkon as he stood on the other side of the area.

Unhurriedly, a lanky weapon descended from within the gauntlet of Zarkon’s arm. It dangled to the ground and he flicked it forward. Keith’s eyes widened as he began to comprehend what he was looking at. A large whip. Spikes and metal shards were welded to it in a form of shrapnel sculpture. Zarkon flicked it again. “Greed. Anger. Resentment. Hatred. Apathy. You are a well of such evil emotions.” Zarkon’s voice lowered into something threatening and dark.

The whip shot out as the King snapped it in Keith’s direction. He barely had time to register the motion before the spears of the whip were wrapped around his ankle, digging into his skin and drawing blood, and drawing him around. “Whoa!” Keith cried. His body hit the cavern wall with a sickening thud. The force was much more than the previous throws and Keith was sure his shoulder blade had been shattered. He lay limp on the floor. After a couple heaving and panicked breaths, he attempted to push himself up, only to fall again. Searing pain radiated through his shoulder, latching its talons in his chest and down his back, exuding outwards. Blood could be tasted in his mouth as it trailed down from a gash on his forehead. His sword laid out of reach.

“No matter what you do to help your friends, you will never be anything but a beast in their eyes.” Zarkon cracked the whip out again. It gripped into Keith’s arm and he desperately tried to pull it off, only succeeding in cutting his hand up and peeling his own skin off where the whip was embedded. Blood stained the cave floor, his clothes, and the whip. Zarkon pulled, forcing Keith to be dragged along the ground, being cut by rocks on his way. Keith gritted his teeth and tears prickled in his eyes. It took everything he had not to wail but he did whimper.

Zarkon pulled him upwards, constraining Keith’s arm above his head, ripping his skin off as Keith’s own weight dragged him down. Keith stared boldly at Zarkon, tears staining his cheeks but not making his gaze any less intimidating. “That Altean boy with you.” For a brief moment, Keith’s expression revealed panic but as quickly as it came, it was gone, masked by his determination again. Being suspended directly in front of Zarkon’s face, however, meant that he had been caught. “Ah… He’s important to you.” A smirk grew on his face. “His soul is probably just as disgusting as yours.”

“Don’t fucking touch him!” Keith’s voice cracked from the strain of holding in his screams. He struggled against the hooks in his arms and sobbed out as his flesh tore.

“Are you trying to protect him?” Zarkon laughed maliciously and it chilled Keith to the bone. He swiped at the jaded scar on Zarkon’s face, grazing a claw along the skin. Suddenly, he was pulled back, flying through the air. His back collided with a small rock near the back of the cave. He tumbled off the small boulder, his limp and damaged body sliding to the cave floor. His sword was still on the ground just barely out of his grasp from him and he made a crawl for it. Zarkon watched him, still speaking. “Do you know what you’re protecting him from? Yourself. You’re the only danger to him.” Keith’s body shook with the effort to move.

“He’s a dependent, helpless kid. Did you do that to his leg?” Zarkon barked out another laugh. “Even if he wanted to get away from you, he couldn’t.” Zarkon’s words burrowed into Keith’s mind. He tried his hardest to ignore the thoughts they spurred on, but it was impossible. Lance enjoyed being around him, right? Why else would he indulge Keith in all the activities they had done otherwise? Unless Lance was just desperate for any contact. Maybe he just didn’t want to be alone in the woods and he would take hospitality wherever he could get it? Was Lance pretending to like Keith just to make sure that Keith didn’t hurt him? The thoughts plagued his mind and he tried to fight back the dropping of his stomach at the realization. Bile snaked its way up his throat and he could feel more tears threaten his eyelids.

_No. Lance deserves to see his family again._ Keith willed the tears back, grasping the sharp edge of the sword and dragging it along the cave floor until he could reach the handle. Blood poured trickled from the slices he caused in his hand.

“And you. Who do you have? Would anyone cry at your death?” Pondered Zarkon. Keith gripped the sword and collapsed to the floor. His vision was clouded by the blood leaking from cuts along his face. “Of course not. Beasts like yourself should be put down. I’m doing your family a favour.”

Keith growled again, glaring hard at Zarkon.

“Oh. I see. You have no family.” He smiled. Not the appalling sinister smile he had had before, but an almost amused one. “A stray.”

Zarkon turned to the mouth of the cave and began to exit. In blind panic at the thought of Zarkon reaching Lance, Keith launched his sword across the space. “No!” His voice barely sounded like his own. It was high and frantic. The weapon knocked into the upper half of the King’s armour, hitting his helmet-crown and falling to the ground at his heels. He stopped in his tracks.

The whip shot out again without Zarkon even turning. It clenched into Keith’s stomach, lugging him into the side of the cave at Zarkon’s left. He sobbed at the impact against his head and blearily opened his eyes. Zarkon held him there, glaring at him with true hatred. “Life is wasted on you.” If words could cut, Keith would be dead. He had never heard a voice so clearly hostile and threatening in his life. The tone scraping from the depths of King Zarkon’s being. Then Zarkon was in front of him, claws digging into in his neck and jaw. Blood was drawn and Keith tried to ignore the sting.

All at once his breathing became ragged and his heart beat even more rapidly. Keith’s vision blurred and he struggled to keep his eyelids from falling. Thoughts slithered into his brain, blocking out any other thought process. Words filled his brain. The far reaches of his mind were invaded. He couldn’t even fully register what was going on. His chest heaved.

_Worthless. Disgusting. Selfish. Angry. Wrathful. Unlovable. Undesirable. Uncared for. Abandoned. Orphaned. Alone._

_Alone. Alone. Alone._

_Beast. Monster. Animal. Creature. Brute. Monstrosity. Freak. Behemoth. Cursed._

_Cursed heart. Cursed soul. Cursed being. Cursed._

_No humanity. No love. No care._

_Plague._

Keith screamed but he couldn’t hear his own voice, all he could hear were the words filling his consciousness. He shrieked more, frenziedly listening for his own voice, hearing nothing. Nothing but the voice whispering ideas into his mind. He was vaguely aware it wasn’t his own voice. It wasn’t his own thoughts.

The agonies of his previous injuries were gone entirely. He couldn’t feel his body at all. It was as though he was suspended in the space of his own mind, the words spiralling around him and within him, assaulting him, infesting him. Then, suddenly, he could feel. His fingers. An angry heat pushed out of the tips of his fingers, his nails extending, claws growing. A headache worked across his head, pulsating and growing more and more painful. His ears lengthened, breaking and stretching his scalp. It was crippling, pain spreading through his jaw. His teeth forced their way through his gums farther. Blood filled his mouth, choking him as he shrieked in agony. He could feel the hair on his skin, long and course, a coat growing in. The words never ceased, either.

_You are a stain on this planet. You have nothing. You are nothing._

_A mutt. A beast. A monster. The demon that people hunt._

_A burden. A problem. An evil. A plague. Your existence is the curse._

_Ungrateful, unappreciative, thankless, churlish disease._

_Life is wasted on you._

_Give up humanity_

_It was never yours in the first place._

_Succumb._

_Galran._

_No humanity._

_Beast._

The words never stopped but his awareness gradually returned. He could see Zarkon leaning over him, his claws embedded in Keith’s neck and his arm glowing with sickly veins throbbing, pumping purple into Keith. Zarkon’s eyes were cold, shining with the same purple. Keith’s beaten and battered hands scraped at the King’s arm pinning him to the ground. When had he ended up on the ground? Vaguely, he could hear himself screaming, muffled and muted, in the distance. His entire body was hot, scorching with the torture. Tears spilled freely, never-ending streams from his eyes. Everything tasted like blood.

Energy was rapidly leaving him. His limbs felt heavy. The lines of consciousness and unconsciousness blurred further and further, crossing over and blending. He could hardly tell where the words were coming from anymore. They were all around him, inside him, consuming him. Every word was true. Every word was the reality that he had been so blind too.

He had spent a year of his life hunting for a brother that wished for nothing more than to be rid of him, had even faked his own death just to escape the annoyance that Keith was. Lance had been forced to live with Keith for a week, spending every moment in fear and repulsion whenever he was reminded of the house he was in, the beast he had to share it with. No wonder he was so anxious to see his family. Anything to be away from the dangerous disease that Keith embodied.

Keith was loud and angry. He could never quiet his opinions or calm himself. He was brash and impulsive. He relied purely on instinct and his sense of what needed to be done. There was never time for Keith, he had none. Everything had to be done quickly. Never stopping to think things through. Never stopping to think at all, really. He had no patience. It got him nowhere fast. Keith’s entire life was generally a nosedive into anything and everything. Compassion, understanding, empathy. Keith had none. Awareness of others and social ability. Could Keith do anything at all?

New emotions flooded him. Hatred. Real anger burned in his soul. A loathing like nothing he had ever experienced. He wanted to hurt someone. He wanted someone to hurt as much as he did. His fingers flexed involuntarily, claws tearing at the skin of the arm latched to him. He wanted to rip muscle from bone, completely dismantle somebody. The taste of blood on his tongue was suddenly intriguing. He relished in the flavour for a moment, unable to regain any semblance of what was happening. Thoughts of sinking his new teeth into fresh meat appealed to him an alarming amount. He couldn’t stop himself.

Guilt and hopelessness surged through him simultaneously. Every action he had ever done was instantly regretted. Nothing felt like it had before. He no longer cared about finding his brother, about helping Lance, about changing back, about returning to Altea. None of that mattered. Life itself hardly meant a thing at that point. All he wanted to do was to hurt. To destroy. To make everyone feel the way he felt.

As the ideas surrounded his foggy mind, an overwhelming dizziness washed over him. He unwillingly let his claws retract from the flesh of the being holding him down, his arms sliding off his chest and to the ground. A soothing voice that surprisingly sounded like his own – unlike all the others – suggested sleep. He couldn’t tell if the thought belonged to him at all with how comforting and soft it was against all the yelling and shouting he had been subjected to.

_Don’t fight anymore. End your suffering. End everyone’s suffering._

_Succumb._

If he had thought about it, he might have become aware of the notion that he was no longer an Altean. At one point as a Galran, he might have been considered something akin to a human, to an Altean, displaying humanity. But not anymore. Every shred of rational thought had been sucked from Keith’s mentality and replaced with the insatiable desire to harm and to ruin. Everything that had made Keith, Keith, had been compressed and distorted. The darkest and most vile thoughts and feelings he had ever had were rising to the surface of his consciousness. The rest; destroyed. It took everything in him not to pass out from the flurry of emotions he was reeling through.

How much time had even passed? Would his torture never end? He was bloodthirsty and his body was giving out on him.

Keith let his body go limp. No longer fighting. Going numb. Even the voices were fading out. Leaving. Distant. Far off. He could hardly taste the blood and tears anymore. His eyes closed. He could hardly feel at all. His fingertips grazed something cold and metal, his claws clicking against it. He didn’t bother to think too hard about it though. He didn’t bother to think about anything. Everything he thought about, hurt him.

The image of shimmering blue eyes and a bright smile crossed his thoughts.

Everything he thought about, hurt him.

Consciousness steadily left him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One second Keith is giggling under the stars with a cute boy. Next second he's having his arm skinned in a cave.  
> How did this happen? How did we get here?


	13. The Light in Our Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaaaaaaare ya ready, kids?!

Lance raced through the woods. His injured foot no longer felt any pain as the adrenaline from his worry and panic. The crutches were practically dragging along beside him, just there to keep him from tumbling. He hardly noticed though, not when one thought was on his mind;

_Save Keith._

The sky above him had begun to swirl and glow. Air was pushed around, causing a fierce wind to rip through the forest. Lance hurried past fallen trees, torn from the ground, roots removed from the dirt. The only reason he was able to see any of the trees at all was the illuminating purple light, eerily cascading over Earth.

Lance’s heart was pumping out of his chest and his body felt cold, not only because of the vicious wind, but because fear and helplessness gripped him again. He had let Keith do so much for him already, helping him and saving him, protecting him and being cautious of the curse around him. At the very least, Lance was going to do this. He was going to do the same for Keith.

And so, he headed for Altea.

All the anxiety that he had felt when he found out the true nature of the royal guards was still alive within him, but this was a dire emergency. There was nowhere else for Lance to go, nothing he was able to do, especially with his nearly nonexistent knowledge of fighting and his injury. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do once he got there – he hadn’t thought that far ahead – but he didn’t have the privilege of time.

As he rushed through the woods, he almost tripped multiple times. His breathing was loud and heavy, his lungs on fire. Lance hoped he was heading in the right direction, it was difficult to tell since he had followed Keith to the mysterious cave with the glowing walls and the armoured Galran. He couldn’t be sure where he was.

Who even was that guy? What was going on? The unification of what? Was that what Keith had been sneaking out every night to investigate? What did it all mean? What sort of ‘Galra things’ was Keith really doing in that creepy room? Lance had no idea what any of it meant other than that Keith was in danger, they all were, but Keith first and foremost. The sheer terror in his voice as he screeched at Lance to run would haunt him until the day he died.

Finally, he could make out the cobblestone path leading into the abandoned village. Without slowing, he sprinted through the gate and past the river, over the bridge. He forced himself to stare ahead toward the direction he was headed and not into the woods where he knew the pile of bodies under the tarp were. It was not the time to think about that, he had to get help. He rushed along the trail, ignoring the raging storm above him as best as he could. The kingdom was much farther than he had anticipated it to be but he couldn’t stop. Any second he wasn’t pushing himself faster toward the kingdom was a second that could have saved Keith’s life. His crutches still dragged.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

People screaming rang out around her. Cries of terror echoed and filled the air. Running, everyone was running. Bumping into each other and stumbling over in their rush to get back to their houses. Her feet hit the stone path full force and her eyes were wide in fear. Flowing out behind her, the purple dress she wore fluttered with her frantic dash. The stifling air of the crowded streets pressed flush against her face and she panted. Ahead of her, the castle was in sight, just a little farther. Someone crashed into her shoulder but they didn’t stop, nor did she, far too focused. She was nearly to the steps of the castle when she was halted by a young woman tugging her arm. Her hair was matted down with sweat and her eyes were wild and desperate. A young boy had his hand wrapped around two of the woman’s fingers, tears streaking his cheeks.

“Princess! Please! What is happening?! Where is the King?! Please, help us!” The woman sobbed, squeezing her hand around the Princess’s arm, nearly bruising. She almost couldn’t be heard over the sounds of panicked yelling and pounding footsteps.

The Princess didn’t know how to respond, but she steeled her expression and attempted for a tone of authority and reassurance. “The King is doing everything he can. Please, return to your home until it is safe to exit.” She placed a hand over the hand around her arm and stared deeply into the eyes of the woman. Her gaze shifted up to inspect the swirling mass of dark clouds forming a funnel in the sky. She grimaced. There was no time to deal with her citizens but she couldn’t just leave them, they were her people. Before the woman could respond, the Princess removed the hand gently and hurried off toward the castle again to find the King.

Rarely did anything truly frighten the Princess, but this was serious, this was a day that she had dreaded for as long as she could remember. How many years had everything been the same in the forest? Why had everything had to fall so terribly? The castle wasn’t exactly at an ideal before the sky had clouded over, but this definitely didn’t make it any better.

The Galra curse hadn’t always been such a problem. Before, when it was just being started, it had spread like wildfire. Everyone and their mother had the Galra curse. King Zarkon had been out of control, ensuring the start of the curse. Luckily, King Alfor had managed to lock him away with his Altean magic. Unluckily, it immobilized him in the process, forcing him to give his remaining magic a physical form to guarantee he wouldn’t die. That may have meant that the Princess lost her ability to contact her father, but it also meant that the curse’s spread would be lessened. And lessened it was, significantly. Everyone forgot about the curse after many years. People even believed that the curse was an old legend. Those were the people who had not had their entire village wiped out by the curse.

Then, everything changed. Years went by without much incident, nothing noteworthy. Until then. Over the last year and a half, the number of villages becoming infected with the Galra curse had increased. Increased to the point of needing to evacuate the entire town. This was bad enough on its own, but it had only become worse when the Royal Altean Knights stopped listening to her. No one really knew that King Alfor had been transformed into a Quintessence crystal, and it would stay that way as long as she could help it. If anyone found out, they would surely lose trust in the Royal Altean Family. Rioting, mass terror, destruction, the overthrowing of King Alfor’s position. She could see it. So, she took his place. Obviously, her command held less power than her father’s as long as she wasn’t a Queen, but she was still obeyed.

That is, until Iverson came along. He had always been a good knight, loyal and efficient, but the longer anyone went without seeing the King, the more restless they all got. Iverson had rallied everyone around him and they refused to follow any orders not given directly by King Alfor in person. And that had been that. The Princess could not stop them. She could do nothing as they killed innocent person after innocent person, dumping their corpses in the woods with disgusting comments about monsters belonging in the forest. She knew the curse couldn’t be let into the kingdom, but that didn’t change that what they were doing was undoubtedly wrong. Even as they turned Altea into a prison, she could do nothing. But her hands were tied until her father returned to his Altean form.

She turned the corners of the building, passing guards who were yelling orders and commands. Her earrings jangled next to her neck and her crown bounced on her forehead. As she came to the end of the last hallway, she quickly began to remove the key she kept tied around her neck on a string from the inside of her dress. Her hands shook and her breathing was ragged, but she somehow got the door open. Once she was inside, she finally stopped racing. Her hair fell around her, silver strands catching in her mouth, she pulled them away. Her breath was still huffing and her expression was still schooled into one of panic. And yet, relief flooded her.

Where a giant, blue crystal had once glowed and rotated slowly in its stand, it had been replaced with a man. He stood carefully, keeping his eyes on the Princess. His long hair flowed over his back, matching in colour to hers. Regal armour donned him, glinting gold, white, and blue off the dull lighting of the room. “Allura.” He breathed, a saddened smile gracing his features.

“Father!” Allura answered, desperately pressing forward into a full run. As soon as she was close enough, she launched herself into the outstretched arms of King Alfor. He held her tightly, rocking side to side softly, his lips pressed to the crown of her hair.

She wanted to stay hugging her father until her arms were numb and her legs couldn’t hold her anymore, she had missed him so much. But they had imperative duties to attend to. As she pulled away, she stared up into her father’s fond, blue eyes. “King Zarkon had been released.” She informed him.

He sighed in response, and for the first time, Allura noticed just how much weight he had been leaning on her. She stepped backwards, he arms still on his biceps as he hunched forward, breathing heavier. “I am aware.” He answered, stare growing cold and determined.

“Father, are you alright?” She asked, helping him stand as he forced his way to the door of the room.

“Ah, yes. I am just weak. It has been a long time since I have inhabited this form.” He replied.

“Do you want to sit for a moment?”

King Alfor shook his head dismissively. “There is no time.”

The pair made their way down the hallway as quickly as King Alfor could manage. Knights who were in the halls of the Castle of Lions stopped what they were doing to bow at the appearance of the King until he had stumbled past. Allura wasn’t quite sure where her father was leading them, but she followed along nonetheless, doing her best to counteract the pressure he applied to her. Once outside, they stared up into the sky, King Alfor being completely in awe and Allura still just as frightened as before. Their hair whipped around them in the fierce wind, a tornado of white. Stumbling as fast as possible, they made their way down the steps and toward the entrance of the city.

As they neared the front gates of Altea, they began to hear yelling. Loud, frantic, desperate wailing. Their eyebrows furrowed in worry. There was no time for them to worry about the citizens individually when their safety was at risk as a whole. But this screaming sounded much more animalistic than the other screaming of the Altean people. It was also suspicious that this altercation was happening at the door of the kingdom with an entire group of Royal Altean Knights surrounding the source.

Upon getting closer, they were able to see a boy ripping his throat apart with his shouting. Tears were gushing from his bleary, blue eyes. His hair was ruffled from the severe wind which only continued to pick up. He was sweating and shivering at the same time and his breathing was laboured, not only by extreme exertion but also a result of his hyperventilating. It was clear he could hardly stand, forcing all his weight onto a single rickety crutch. Everything about him was clearly Altean, yet there at the front of the group of guards, was Iverson, aiming an arrow at the boy’s head.

“What is the meaning of this?!” King Alfor suddenly yelled, his powerful voice drowning out any other sounds.

All the guards stopped. They turned to stare in shock at the King. Everyone had begun to assume that the King had died. To see him in the flesh sent a wave of astonishment through the knights. Iverson had also lowered his bow, a look of disbelief on his face. “Well– I– Um…” Iverson stuttered, mouth opening and closing without any sound.

King Alfor ignored him, pushing past to stand in front of the boy, towering over him in his hunched and injured state. Iverson stumbled away, dropping his bow as he fell into the other guards. Allura helped her father along.

“Boy, are you alright?” Alfor reached his hand down to offer a supportive peaceful gesture to him.

The boy, however, didn’t calm. He urgently gripped King Alfor’s hand and stared at him, wide eyed. “Please, you have to help! Keith is going to be killed!” His words were leaving his mouth a mile a minute and he stumbled forward.

“Slow down. What has happened?” Alfor remained calm.

He shook his head, tears still streaming. “He– We were in this– this cave! And there were blue lights and some Galran dude appeared! Keith told me to run and I listened! I left him there! What if he’s hurt?! _What if he’s dead?!”_ He had gotten progressively more distraught as he spoke, his thoughts not coherently lining up to paint a complete picture. It didn’t matter though, King Alfor and Princess Allura knew what he was talking about.

“King Zarkon.” Allura glanced to the pulsating sky tinted purple.

“What is your name?” King Alfor asked the boy.

“Lance!” He sobbed.

King Alfor nodded thoughtfully before turning back to the knights. “I need my horse and anyone who is brave enough.” He instructed.

Allura gripped his arm tighter. “Father, you can’t! You are unwell!” She protested.

“He will destroy this land.” The King answered, staring soberly into her eyes. “We must stop him.”

“You don’t mean…”

“Allura, it is the only way Earth will ever have peace.” Softness laced his voice but all Allura could do was stare at him and let the tears prickle from her eyes and trace down her cheeks.

“You will die.” She whispered.

“Yes, Allura, but as leaders, we have to do what's right for our people, even if it means great sacrifice.” His forehead was wrinkled in sadness as he stared at Allura.

“I know, Father. That's what you always say.” She whispered again, her voice catching. They both nodded at each other and hugged once more. As they pulled away, they saw the knights returning from the stables guiding their horses over. King Alfor pet his horse’s nose before hoisting himself onto the back of the animal, releasing a groan as he settled.

Allura waited until he was settled before turning to her own horse. After she had pulled herself into place, shifting her dress around, she stared down to the distraught boy still holding himself up with a crutch. “Get on, Lance.” She said. He stared at her for a moment before hurrying forward and heaving himself onto the horse behind her. His arms wrapped around her waist and she whipped the reins on the horse. They were off, exiting the city and riding into the forest, followed closely by the guards who had decided to join them.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Lance wrapped his arms around the waist of who he presumed to be the princess of Altea. On any given day, Lance would have hit on her, would have checked the city out, would have found his family to tell them he was alright. But that day was not the given day for that. Lance didn’t care about the beautiful girl, or the city, or even his family. He knew they were okay, but Keith was not. That was what mattered.

When he had arrived to the city, he had been positive that he was about to be killed, right there at the entrance to Altea at the hands of some asshole with a bow and arrow. But, by some miracle, the King and the Princess of Altea had arrived just in time, and not just that, they had saved him rather than call for his immediate death. The outcome was infinitely better than he had been expecting. Maybe Keith would have a chance.

They rode through the forests that surrounded Altea, passing over the bridge and into the small, abandoned village that Lance had once called home. He didn’t even think about his memories there as they passed through, he didn’t have to consciously keep his head face away from the spot in the woods where the bodies had been dumped. His entire focus was on the path ahead of them and the idea that Keith was still alive, still okay. As if his belief alone was what kept Keith holding on.

Trees passed quickly on both sides, faster and faster. Lance leaned forward into the Princess in anticipation. If she noticed, she didn’t seem to mind. The path was becoming clearer despite them veering off the actual path and into the mess of trees to the left. Galloping could be heard behind him and the destruction of leaves informed Lance that they were still being followed by the guards as they hurried. Overhead, the sky had begun to glow a brighter, nearly blinding, purple light, and Lance was forced to look away after a moment of attempting to glance at it.

Their ride to the cave took eons, Lance leaning forward the entire time, watching the landmarks and the large mountain in the distance where he knew the cave was. Every clap of the horse’s hooves on the stone trail bore into Lance’s mind, reminding him of how close they were to Keith. As soon as they were within sight of the opening in the rock, Lance was practically catapulting himself off the horse and toward the cave entrance. His foot nearly gave out under him but he was in such a distressed hurry that he hardly noticed, ignoring the pain as he went. The horses behind had stopped with a snort and Princess Allura, King Alfor, and the rest of the knights bounded off their steads and followed Lance, bows ready. King Alfor clutched his side as he staggered forward. Princess Allura was suddenly there, helping him to rush along.

“Keith?! Keith!” Lance screamed as he ran. The dark rock walls came into view and his feet suddenly touched down on solid stone. There, on the ground, the giant creature in the armour was pinning down Keith. Lance could barely make out his ears and arm from the shadows cast by the Galra hovering over him, but he could see enough to be sure it was, in fact, Keith. He rushed forward without thinking, but before he could get very far, the Galra was stepping away from Keith to glower at Lance and he halted in his tracks. Lance’s eyes were drawn to the item in his hand, which, to his horror, he instantly identified as a spiked whip. It flicked with his wrist.

King Alfor and Princess Allura entered the cave behind him and Alfor attempted to stand up straighter. He removed a sword that he had stored in a sheath at his side, gripping it readily and taking a challenging step toward Lance and the Galran King. The guards began lining up behind Alfor and Allura, aiming their bows in unison. Lance eyeballed the whip fearfully, then glanced to Keith, who lay motionless near the wall of the cave, sprawled along the ground. The only sound was the whirring of the wind outside.

And then all at once, all hell broke loose. The whip shot out for Lance, but he had enough reflex to be able to leap out of the way in time. He dove, clumsily rolling across the rocky floor. The whip flung past him, nearly clipping his arm, embedding itself in the leg of a frontline soldier. A scream punctuated the air from the man. Arrows were already being released into King Zarkon. Some stuck themselves into the few exposed parts between his armour while the rest just bounced right off, landing on the ground. A constant barrage of arrows was flying at him, although he didn’t seem too bothered, far too focused on Alfor. After a moment of watching the attacks by the pitiful Alteans, he advanced on King Alfor, aiming his whip again. King Alfor copied, but rather, swinging his sword out powerfully. Allura called his name in desperation but she was ignored.

Lance watched as it all happened so fast before his very eyes, but then he was pulled back by the sounds of pained groaning to his left. He turned to Keith’s heaving form and frantically pushed himself up to crawl over. His heart beat so loud in his chest that he could hear it over the screaming and clashing coming from the entrance of the cave. Before he could reach the other boy, Keith was already forcing himself into a sitting position, hissing in pain as he went. Lance was prepared to let out a sigh of relief, but it was cut off as he finally noticed the differences in Keith. His ears were much larger than they had been, in fact, Keith himself was much bigger than he had been. Every limb seemed stretched and Lance didn’t need to see Keith stand to know he had grown at least a foot and a half. His yellow eyes stared at Lance, completely devoid of any emotion. Then suddenly, his face scrunched up into an expression that could only be described as predatory. He snarled, revealing fangs that Lance was sure he would have noticed before, and his enormous claws scraped across the ground next to him. Lance’s eyes widened and he had barely enough time to register what was about to happen and roll away before the sharp edge of Keith’s sword was being swung around and stabbed into the rock where Lance’s head had been moments prior.

“Keith! Buddy! It’s me, Lance!” He called out, hurriedly trying to stand. “What’re you doing?!”

The other boy just snarled again and forced himself into a hunched stance, then promptly fell over. It didn’t stop him though and he settled for a crawl. A noticeable trail of blood followed behind him and Lance was horrified to realize it was coming from gashes along his leg, arm, stomach, and neck. And Keith didn’t seem too bothered by them either if his animalistic approach toward Lance was any indication. What the hell had that purple monster done to Keith, to _his_ Keith?

The sword swiped outward again without any precision or aim, just the goal of hitting Lance at all. Lance scampered backwards around the cave, desperately trying to talk Keith out of whatever was wrong with him. “Come on, Keith!” He laughed nervously. “You’re not like this!” His back hit the other wall of the cave and he watched as Keith raised the sword, preparing to strike. Leaping to the side, he narrowly missed being lobbed in half. “I don’t know what that purple creep did to you but you don’t want to do this!” Nothing changed. Lance quickly chanced a glance to the ongoing fight at the entrance of the cave. He watched as King Zarkon’s whip forced two guards back, flinging them like ragdolls. They rolled across the ground then lay motionless, presumably dead. Alfor continued to force King Zarkon back with his sword and he was met with only mocking laughter and a series of punches. King Alfor blocked them with effort. Allura stood off to the side, attempting magic, it seemed. She was far too frantic in her attempts and the small, blue orb she manifested between her palms was not nearly enough to make a difference.

Lance stared back at Keith, still sliding his nearly dead body closer, still snarling, although the slobbering was new, and it scared Lance immensely. Keith had become like a wild dog. “Keith, please!” Tears were starting to well in Lance’s eyes at the very real prospect that he had lost Keith. “You said– Your brother, Keith, you said you were going to find him. Shiro needs your help.” No recognition flickered in his eyes and he continued to slink forward. “What about Mothman? You don’t wanna leave him at the altar, huh?” His tone wasn’t as lighthearted as it should be for a joke and instead cracked halfway through.

A loud snapping sounded and Lance followed the noise with his eyes. The whip had been smashed into the trunk of a tree with enough force to snap it in half, causing it to tumble down amongst the rest of the forest. King Alfor lay a few steps away, on the forest floor, struggling to stand again. He was yelling out at King Zarkon, but the whip didn’t halt. Another tree was struck down, crushing an armoured knight in its way.

A quick glance around the area revealed that the majority of knights were dead and dismembered in the grass. Everything was painted a bright red and the powerful wind only made it seem like a sea of blood. King Zarkon stood in the middle of the wreckage and glowered down at the fallen Altean King. One clawed hand was aimed toward King Alfor and began to emit a bright stream of purple light. It fired from his hand as a lightning bolt of flickering energy and magic. King Alfor began to glow as it hit him. His expression morphed into one of pain and Lance could vaguely make out the sound of Allura screaming from somewhere out of sight.

_Clank!_

Metal hit the rock next to his head and he flinched, suddenly very aware of just how close he was to being killed. It was a good thing Keith was so out of it that he couldn’t aim. Although, that was also a bad thing, a sign of his weakening state. Lance scurried away, nearly tripping over a larger stone, and Keith continued to follow. With every evasion Lance pulled, Keith got angrier which caused him to move even more sporadically. There was a steady stream of blood leaving Keith’s body and despite his best efforts to kill Lance, Lance still desperately wanted to help Keith, to bandage him up, just like Keith had done for him.

Instead, Lance just ran. His foot still throbbed dully, but he could hardly feel it. Once outside the cave, he spotted Allura huddled next to a bush, struggling to perform magic the way Lance had seen King Zarkon do so easily. He rushed towards her and dropped to her side. The fear in her eyes was too much for Lance at that moment and he forced himself to turn away. The fight between King Alfor and King Zarkon was still heavily one-sided in Zarkon’s favor. The magic was enveloping King Alfor, his entire being was transparent and parts of his skin and armour fluttered off to turn into black diamonds, hovering next to him.

“What’s happening?” Lance whispered urgently. He had come to Allura in hopes she could help with the Keith situation but he quickly realized the kind of danger they were all in at the sight of King Zarkon dismantling King Alfor.

“He is sealing away my father like what was done to him. If one dies, the other will too. We have to stop Zarkon.” Her thoughts were frantic and muddled and she tried to conjure some power into her hands again, but to no avail. She was shaking but there was a determined set to her jaw. “He will destroy Earth.” She whispered, her voice wavering.

“What can we–” At that moment, the snarling form staggered toward them, a sword scraping through the grass behind him, bloody from being dragged through his own blood trail. How much blood had Keith lost? How much more could he lose before he was gone? When had it started raining? “Keith!” Lance called, a desperate plea.

“Oh, god.” Allura whispered, shifting an arm out in front of Lance’s torso. “He is completely gone.”

“What?! What do you mean he’s completely gone?!” He whipped around to stare at the Princess’s eyes, searching for an answer.

“His humanity is gone.” Was her only response, and then she was yanking him into a stand and pulling him farther into the woods to circle around the battle between the Kings. Lance struggled against her grip for a moment, refusing to leave Keith to bleed to death in the rain, inhumane and savage, but Allura was much stronger than him and he was forced to relent. Another tree was struck and Lance let out an embarrassing squeak. It tumbled to the ground, splattering amongst the rain ridden grass. Guards were still firing arrows around them all, screaming and yelling. The crackling of the raw energy seeping from Zarkon’s hand was enough to make them all flinch. Allura did her best to evade the knights and the ruined trees. Eventually, they crouched down behind a tree.

Scared out of his mind at all the near death as well as the throbbing in his ankle, Lance interrogated her. “What do we do?! How do we help him?!” Lance attempted to poke his head out over the bushes but Allura pulled him back down.

“We can’t. I am sorry.” She gave Lance a pitying look and Lance felt panicked again. He surged upward to track down Keith. Tears were renewed at the news. Allura called to him again urgently as he ran, but he didn’t stop, he didn’t turn back either. He had to help Keith somehow. Next to him King Alfor and King Zarkon were still fighting, King Alfor using his own limited magic to counter the black diamonds of King Zarkon’s magic. Lance forced himself to look away to search for Keith again.

It wasn’t too hard to find the Galran boy, what, with his snarling and growling and all. Lance didn’t waste any time, he rushed forward, grabbing his crutch off the ground from where he had dropped it in his mad dash. He brandished it as if it were a baseball bat. Once he was close enough, Keith noticed him. The sword was aimed at him. Lance was ready. In his confused and inhumane state, Keith had seemingly lost all semblance of sword fighting techniques, luckily for Lance. He slammed his crutch into Keith’s arm. A howl of pain and surprise escaped the boy. His sword flung out of his hand and stuttered through the wet grass. Keith stared at it for a second before turning back to Lance.

It was at that point that Lance realized he hadn’t exactly thought out a plan, because Keith was practically slinking towards him, back hunched and shoulders rolling. His fingers flexed, the long claws digging through the air. Lance let out a horrified and clipped screech, stepping backwards and away from Keith as quickly as possible. “Keith, Keith, Keith! Hey, hey!” He held up his hands. “Our families! You said we would see them again! Keyword: _we.”_ Keith didn’t slow down once again. “Can’t do it without you, Keith, please. I know you don’t want to hurt me!” Except, it really seemed like Keith _did_ want to hurt him. “Keith!” Lance cried. “Keith, you’re scary, and harsh, and sarcastic, and a stick in the mud, but you’re not this.” It was difficult to stare at Keith when he was so monstrous in front of him. “You’re a gardener, a guitarist, a cook, a conspiracy theorist, and you’d give anything for your brother!” No matter what he tried, nothing seemed to return the light to Keith’s eyes. Nothing he said changed anything.

Between walking backwards with an injured leg, being distracted by the threat to his life in front of him, the rain, the wind, and the uneven ground, it was only a matter of time before Lance fell. And he did. He stumbled, landing hard in the mud. Keith was on him in an instant, languidly dropping on all fours to stalk over him. Hovering inches above his face, yet still not physically touching him. Rain from Keith’s slick hair dripped down onto Lance’s forehead and cheeks, mixing with the blood seeping from Keith’s neck and the saliva drooling out of his mouth as he snarled. Tears were adding to the mix, Lance’s own tears. Soulless yellows met fearful blue as Keith and Lance stared at each other. A rumble rolled out of Keith’s throat.

That was the end. Lance was sure of it. He was about to be ripped to shreds by this beautiful, forest boy who he would give anything to save, who he cared about so much. After everything they had been through. After all the care and kindness that Keith had shown him, yet covered with false annoyance and comebacks. After it all, this was how it would all end. With Lance being murdered and Keith bleeding out on top of his corpse in the middle of the forest in the rain. Lance would never get to go on an adventure with his little brother again, or hear constellation stories from his little sister again, or ruffle his older sister’s hair just to annoy her again. He would never get to hug his mama and tell her how much he loved her. Never help his father in the garden. Lance’s family would never know if he was even alright. That would be it.

“I will not let you take this land!” King Alfor’s booming voice broke through Lance’s thoughts and he instinctively turned his head. Keith’s head turned to the sound too, thankfully, removing the tension created while Lance waited to be killed. They both watched King Alfor.

Sword drawn and aimed at King Zarkon, he shouted to the other from where he kneeled and hunched on the ground. His hair was leaking water down his armour and he was glowing a meek blue. Zarkon stood over him, purple lightning tingling along his fingers. They were both bleeding, although Alfor clearly had the worst of it. There were bruises and cuts all along his face and neck and his breathing was heavy and tired. “You’ve terrorized these people for years, Zarkon, but never again.” And with that, Alfor spun his sword around through his fingers and plunged it right through his stomach at the opening in his armour. His legs gave out under him and he stumbled forward into the muddy ground.

“No!” King Zarkon rushed forward to stop him but it was too late. His entire arm disentangled itself from reality, breaking and pulling apart. Black diamonds filled the air as bits and pieces of King Zarkon’s armour and skin shattered like glass from his very being. The diamonds of King Zarkon’s existence floated upwards into the sky, which was slowly clearing from its glowing funnel of clouds. It crawled up his arm and over his entire body, blowing every part of him to dust. He yelled obscenities and threats out at random but it did nothing to deter his erasure. Finally, he was gone. Eradicated.

King Alfor had slumped on the ground, slowly turning into black diamonds as well. Princess Allura, who had been hiding amongst the trees, sprinted forward, her leg bleeding as she limped. The mud splatted under her knees as she dropped next to the dying King. “Father! Father, no!” Hot tears were streaming down her cheeks and she was screeching as the bits of magic unraveled themselves from beneath her hands. The sky cleared further, leaving only the rain to pound down. Eventually, the last piece of King Alfor rose into the air above them, disappearing. There was a moment of silence before an intense explosion of air radiated outwards. Allura’s hair gusted upwards and she shielded her eyes at the wind. Lance ducked his face into the crevice of his armpit as the ferocious and finalizing wind rushed past him. His hair and clothes fluttered. Then he opened his eyes again.

Lance watched in horrified awe as Princess Allura stared in shock for a moment, shaking, with her jaw clenched and her eyes clamped shut. Suddenly, she slammed her fists into the grass and mud around her. Her shoulders hunched and she screamed, piercing and desperate, echoing through the forest. Streams of tears raced down her cheeks. The silence that followed was unbearable and cold. Only the pattering of the rain was heard, tapping music into the metallic armour of the dead knights around her, covered in blood. She sat in the mud, drenched and looking grief stricken. Lance felt tears prickling his own eyes at the sight. His chest heaved.

Suddenly, he was reminded of where he was and he quickly turned back to Keith, prepared to fight for his life once more. But instead, he watched Keith’s bleary yellow eyes droop closed after blinking a moment, entirely dazed. His arms began to give out under him and he slumped to the left of Lance, rolling softly away through the mud. Motionless, he lay there. Lance stared at him for a moment, waiting for Keith to get back up, snarl at him, something.

That didn’t happen.

“Keith…?” He whispered. His voice was hoarse.

No response came.

“Keith?” He asked again, a little louder and a little more urgent.

Again, he said nothing.

On shaking arms, Lance raised his body up. He clumsily brushed his hair away from where it was pasted to his face with blood, sweat, saliva, and rain. “Keith…” His voice broke and he pressed himself across the ground toward the body of Keith, which was slowly being enveloped by a puddle of red. His hand reached out toward the other boy, but his vision blurred and his depth perception left him. He wavered, nearly falling back into the grass. Struggling against the sudden wave of nausea and fatigue that washed over him, he moved his hand closer. Once again, he was blocked, and his entire vision went black. He dropped into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all have no idea how excited I am for the next chapter.  
> Also, this fic has reached 100 kudos recently and I want to thank everyone who left a kudos! This work means a heck of a lot to me, and I'm glad people enjoy it!


	14. Just Some Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the foundation of this entire story.

_Everything was dark. Keith’s eyelids fluttered open. For a moment, he was unsure of where he was, but as his eyes adjusted, he could make out the stone ceiling of what seemed to be a cave. It must have been the cave with the markings. Keith groaned, then slowly lifted himself to rest on his elbows. He scanned the cavern, but it was empty. None of the markings were glowing anymore either. His ears twitched as if searching for any sounds, but it was entirely silent. Unnaturally silent. Not even the sounds of nature could be heard. Only his ragged panting and the anxious beat of his heart. Everything came back to him gradually. The fight with Zarkon. He could recall all the events leading up to the point where he had been pinned to the ground but nothing after that was clear enough for him to remember._

_Keith pressed his hands into the rough floor and forced himself into a hunched sit. He released a low hiss and gathered his breath for a moment. Every part of his body ached and every movement he made was sluggish. “Guess I really wasn't meant to unseal that cage.” Keith muttered to no one._

_“Hey, man. You did it.” The voice startled him. Keith flinched, whipping around to see the figure calmly approaching him._

_“Lance?” Keith called._

_The boy smiled at his name and crouched next to Keith. “You killed King Zarkon. You did it. You don't have to keep this up.” He informed Keith, still smiling. His eyes were warm and welcoming, instantly relieving some of the pain from Keith’s muscles._

_Even with all the warmth radiating off Lance, the idea that his business was unfinished scratched incessantly at the back of his brain uncomfortably. “What are you talking about?” He tilted his head._

_Lance chuckled lightly, almost endearingly, and flicked his head in the direction of the cave entrance. “C’mon, Mullet, let's just get out of here.” He grinned as if he had told an inside joke that only the two of them could understand._

_That boy. That beautiful, blue boy. He was safe and Keith was safe. Not much else really mattered and he was tempted to follow Lance, because he probably would follow Lance anywhere. Everything about Lance was comforting, yet something still didn’t sit right with Keith and he squinted at the sincere adoration in Lance’s eyes. “I can't just leave, Lance.” Keith frowned._

_His smile faltered for a moment and his eyes hardened. “What is it with you?” The lilting tone remained in his voice, but Keith could tell the atmosphere had changed._

_“I’m so close to finding Shiro and to being Altean again.” Keith began to stand even as his muscles protested against it. Lance, more than anyone else, should understand what it meant to get his family back. He and Lance had had a nice bonding moment at the pond. Keith had basically poured his entire backstory out and he had made it painfully obvious how fearful he was of spreading the curse to Lance. And yet, Lance was acting as though Keith was obsessive._

_Lance’s facial expression dropped and his voice was no longer friendly. “You know what you are; Galra. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He stared at Keith coolly. “I’m all the family you need.”_

_A moment passed as Keith stared at Lance, a swelling sense of dread rising within him. “Lance, you're so important to me…” He said carefully, not breaking their eye contact. “But I have to get my life back.”_

_Lance leveled him with a threatening glare. “_ No _, you don't.” Keith had never heard Lance speak with such icy odium. “So, just come with me.” It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a demand._

_Keith began backing away from Lance, moving farther into the cave. “I can't do that.”_

_Anger flashed across Lance’s face as Keith stepped away. “Just come with me, Keith! You're only thinking of yourself, as usual!” He snapped._

_Keith narrowed his eyes in resolution, still treading back. “I've made my choice.”_

_“Then you've chosen to be alone.” Spit Lance. And with that, he spun on his heel and power-walked out of the cave, fists clenched at his sides._

_Sudden panic arose in Keith. He didn’t think Lance would leave! “Lance! Wait!” He attempted to step forward, intent on going after Lance. But he was stopped as another voice sounded out behind him._

_“Keith...”_

_His eyes widened. “Shiro?” He turned to chase the familiar voice, suddenly finding himself in a small cottage. Momentarily, he was distracted. It was the house he had used to live in a year before. His childhood home in Altea. Everything appeared exactly as he remembered it and his heart jumped from the wave of nostalgia. He finally stared back at his brother. The front tuft of his black undercut fell partially over his eyes and his smiling expression was warm, just as Keith remembered. There was a glimmer of overwhelming happiness and love in Shiro’s eyes._

_“You're home, Keith.” As if his limbs were suddenly made of lead, Keith felt the need to drop to the ground, but he didn’t. Relief washed over him. His entire mission to find Shiro had ended. He was home and his brother was alright. One of his ears twitched._ Oh, yeah, that.

_Before either of them could say anything more, there was a steady chorus of screaming and footsteps on cobblestone. “What's going on outside?” Keith’s brows furrowed and he moved toward the curtain to investigate._

_Shiro slammed the curtain back into place before he could though, and he stared softly at Keith; a direct contrast to the strained hand he held against the fabric. “Don't worry about that. We'll be fine as long as we stay in here. Don't you want to catch up?” Shiro tilted his head back to the couch farther into the house._

_A pause. “Of course I do.” Keith whispered, voice dripping with emotion._

_Smiling wider, Shiro subtly shifted to stand in between the window and Keith, directing him to the couch again, which Keith reluctantly submitted to. “Keith, an entire year has passed. I have so much to tell you.” He chuckled at the thought of all the stories he would tell Keith, but he was cut off again. Another series of blood curdling shrieks were heard through the walls followed by a twinging noise. Almost like the drawing and releasing of a bow._

_“What is that?” Keith turned back to the window again, more irritated._

_The smile along Shiro’s face had begun to form something more and more forced, and it unsettled Keith. His brother had never made such a manufactured expression before in his life. “Everything's fine.”_

_Keith pushed his way past Shiro, ignoring the curse altogether in his frustration. The curtains were thrown back and he stared out into the streets of Altea. There were tons of people, all running for their lives. Countless guards chased after the civilians, bows drawn and arrows aimed. Keith watched in horror as a man holding a little girl’s hand tripped on a loose stone, tumbling to the ground. The girl stopped running, turning back to the man. She was crying and when the man turned to glance fearfully over his shoulder, Keith could see he was crying too. Suddenly, an arrow streamed through the air, landing in the man’s hip. A scream tore from his throat, followed closely by the shriek from the girl. He frantically began shoving the girl away, yelling at her to move. Shaking her head, she turned and hesitantly jogged away, glancing back to the man, tears clouding her vision. A knight came sprinting in from somewhere past the view of the window. He carefully aimed his bow at the back of the man’s head. Before he could release the bow, Keith dropped the curtains, panting and tearing up. His heart was beating out of his chest. “Shiro, I-I'm sorry. I gotta go. There's people that need help out there.” He mumbled, turning to look at his brother, visibly shaken._

_Shiro didn’t even look mildly bothered by what had just happened outside. “Don't you want to be a family again? Mom and dad miss you, too.”_

_Keith squinted his eyes and attempted to calm his breathing. “Mom and dad?” That wasn’t right. Their parents died a long time ago. Another piercing shriek echoed through the walls and Keith instinctively turned to the window, glad the curtain was there._

_“They'll be here soon.” Shiro’s voice was entirely calm and his eyes never left Keith._

_He shook his head, turning his eyes to the floor. “I gotta go, Shiro. This curse is ruining everything. They’re killing innocent people.”_

_As if he hadn’t even heard a word Keith had said, Shiro just continued to stare and smile. “Our parents are almost here. They'll tell you everything.”_

_Keith stepped back, then spun around to grab the door handle. “I can't wait around anymore. I have to go.” He reiterated as strongly as he could manage._

_“If you go out that door, you'll never be able to return to this family.” Shiro’s voice was no longer soft and welcoming. It was threatening and hard. Everything that Shiro was not. A lump formed in Keith’s throat. After an entire year, all he had wanted was to see his brother again, to know he was alright, for them to live as a family again. Keith just wanted the loving normalcy they had once had. It was right there._ He _was right there. Shiro was alive and well, offering Keith everything he had been fighting for. But… it wasn’t right. To sit in the house while people suffered from the curse outside, killing each other, killing themselves, destroying themselves. That wasn’t right. Keith had been there. Was still there. He watched it happened for a year out in the woods as the bodies of innocent people piled up, cursed or not. He couldn’t just pretend that it wasn’t happening._

_“Goodbye, Shiro.”_

_Monsters don’t have families anyways._

_Keith opened the door and stepped outside._

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Everything was dark. Keith’s eyelids fluttered open. For a moment, he was unsure of where he was, but as his eyes adjusted, he could make out the stone ceiling of what seemed to be a house. He was no longer in the cave. He was no longer in his old house in Altea. And it wasn’t silent. Whispering. There was a very soft, very faint voice muttering to the left of him. He could hardly make out any of the words but he strained his ears, hoping to catch something.

“–but mama is just happy I’m alive, y’know? I told them all about you, hope you don’t mind, Mullet.” A fond laugh. “My little brother thinks you’re cool. You’ve got the Little Brother Seal of Approval.” Keith could hear the smile in the words. “My older sister said she’d teach you to build a real flower crown, as if I’m a terrible teacher or something. Can you believe that?” Scoffing. “Mama and papa love you though. They were a little upset about the whole purple thing, but when I told them you saved my life more than once, then they came around. But I knew they would. My little sister actually wanted to hear more about your cryptid stories. Now I know two cryptid nerds. What am I going to do? I’m sorry, dude, but I can’t listen to you try to convince me the Hide And Seek isn’t a shapeshifter anymore.”

“Hidebehind.” Keith croaked out.

Instantly, there was a frenzied shuffling next to him and the source of the voice was staring at him, wide eyed. Keith forced himself up onto his elbows underneath the blanket. Every muscle protested the action but he ignored them, as usual. He met the other boy’s ocean eyes. Had his eyes always been so vibrant? His memory of them seemed so dull in comparison.

“Keith.” The boy breathed out.

“Lance.” Keith answered, his voice broken and strained. It hurt to speak.

“Wow.” Lance muttered, still staring at him. “You sound like shit.”

“You look like shit.” Keith narrowed his eyes.

Huffing out a laugh, Lance softened, appearing tired and worn, yet still relieved. “Haven’t been sleeping much.” He admitted.

Suddenly, Lance was reaching out to grab at his face and Keith, in an immediate knee-jerk reaction, flung himself backwards. His shoulder hit the wall behind him and he hissed in pain, still scrambling into the wall with his legs. He could feel the bandages rubbing against his skin underneath his clothes and along his neck and arms. Steadying his breathing, he looked to Lance, confused.

Fear and concern flashed across Lance’s face. Slowly, Lance moved from the little stool he had been sitting on and rested on the bed next to Keith. He shifted his one knee to lay on the mattress too. His worried eyes never left Keith and Keith didn’t dare look away either. “You’re free.” Lance whispered.

Keith narrowed his eyes. “What…?” Every word felt like it could shatter.

“The curse is gone. Zarkon is dead.” Lance smiled with pure affection.

The words rang in Keith’s ears for a second. It took him a moment to even process them. _How? Is this another weird dream?_

Shaking, he slid his hands out from under the blanket set over top of him. He almost couldn’t look, but he did anyway, bringing his hand up to inspect it. Sure enough, instead of the infected purple hue, he was met with pale, white skin. His nails, although unkept and in varying lengths, were square and definitely not claws. Even through the bandages, he could tell they were Altean hands. Keith let out a shuddering breath, attempting to hold back tears, clenching his eyes closed. His hands trembled and he reached them up to the crown of his head. They were met with hair and empty air. No giant, cat ears. He slid his hands along the sides of his head, tracing the pinna of his very Altean, very human ears. Emotions were welling up inside him and he let out a quavering huff of breath that could be interpreted as a sob or a laugh, Keith himself wasn’t sure.

Opening his eyes again after a moment, he met Lance’s gaze. Everything was slightly blurry from the building tears but he could clearly make out the care and happiness Lance was staring at him with.

The thought suddenly occurred to Keith and before he could really think it through too much, he reached a quivering hand cautiously out toward Lance’s hand, which was rested on the mattress next to Keith’s thigh. Lance flipped his hand over after realizing what Keith’s aim was, but he didn’t move it any more than that. It felt like an eternity that Keith’s hand was suspended in the air, just shaking. Finally, his fingertips hesitantly met Lance’s palm. They traced gently along Lance’s skin and over his long delicate fingers. Keith’s heart was racing and his lips quirked up in a disbelieving smile. He tenderly wrapped his hand around Lance’s fingers and ran his thumb up the appendages. Without ever ending the contact of their hands, Keith pressed his fingers in between Lance’s, threading them together. Lance’s hand was warm and supple whereas Keith’s was calloused and rough, yet they slotted together perfect and snug. It was everything Keith thought it would be and more.

A soft huff of laughter let out above him and Keith glanced up to stare at Lance. A single tear rolled down Lance’s face, but he just kept grinning at Keith, saying nothing, their hands intertwined. Without letting go of Lance, Keith stretched his left hand out to cup Lance’s cheek. With his thumb, he swiped the tear away, gazing at Lance as if he was seeing him for the first time. Lance pressed his cheek into Keith’s touch and Keith let out another rushed breath of air, verging on a sob of happiness.

He guided Lance closer, then all at once, he released Lance’s hand and cheek to wrap his arms around Lance’s neck. He pressed his chin into the other boy’s shoulder. Lance leaned toward Keith and snaked his hands around Keith’s waist. They both tilted their heads into each other. It almost didn’t seem real. After a year of zero human contact, there he was, hugging the boy he could only ever dream to touch. His fingertips spread out along Lance’s shoulder blades, tracing and mapping his back through his shirt. At the motions, Lance pulled him closer until there was no space between them.

“Hey, Lance?” Keith mumbled into his shoulder.

“Yeah, Keith?” Lance responded, turning to mutter the words into Keith’s hair.

“You’re not bad.”

Lance laughed lightly and pulled away to press his forehead into Keith’s gently. His hands relaxed on Keith’s hips. “Is that your way of saying you have a crush on me? Aww, how embarrassing!” Lance said quietly, yet still excited. His eyes shifted back and forth, switching between Keith’s eyes, unsure of which one to look at.

Keith huffed. “Yeah, well, you are embarrassing.” Noses bumped slightly. Keith hadn’t noticed it before, but Lance had the faintest sunspots around his cheeks. Being so close, Keith could just barely make them out against Lance’s tanned skin.

“Okay, I _was_ going to tell you I had a crush on you too, but you decided to be a dick, so now you don’t get to hear it.” Lance shrugged, his face an expression as if he had won.

A contemplative hum rolled from Keith’s throat. “I guess I’m left to wonder.” He murmured in fake dejection. But Lance was already leaning in slowly, tilting his head. Keith’s eyes slid shut as Lance’s lips touched to his delicately. Where the room was silent before, Keith’s heartbeat became deafening. Neither of them moved for a moment, just savouring the soft feeling of each other’s lips and the soothing scent of the other. He could feel Lance breathing through his nose against his septum. Gradually, Lance began to move, and Keith followed.

Truthfully, Keith had never kissed anyone before and wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but each move felt natural, perfectly in sync with Lance. He leaned his head farther to slot their mouths together easier and his arms slid back from around Lance, hands gliding along Lance’s neck. They quickly got into a rhythm, until Lance giggled and smiled which lead to Keith awkwardly kissing Lance’s teeth before pulling back, but they continued to hug each other closely.

“I can’t believe you’re cheating on Mothman.” Lance teased, laughing brightly, his eyes clenching shut.

“I’m not good enough for Mothman, anyway.” Keith trailed his hands up the sides of Lance’s face, unconsciously preening his hair.

A look of mock offense crossed Lance’s face and he instantly stopped laughing. “What’re you saying? I’m your second choice?”

“No, I just–” His attempt to explain was cut off.

“Save it, Keith. The Hide Be Whatever would never treat me like this.” Lance turned to pointedly look anywhere but at Keith and he pulled his hands away from Keith’s hips to cross his arms over his chest.

“Hidebehind.” Keith corrected again.

“Him too!” Lance answered.

Stifling laughter, Keith pet Lance’s hair. “You’re ridiculous.”

As much as he was clearly trying, Lance couldn’t hold back his smile and he rapidly dropped the façade to pull Keith into a suffocating hug. They both tumbled sideways into the mattress.

“Ow, ow. Lance, my arm!” Keith cried, although he smiled and laughed anyway.

Shoving himself up to hover over Keith worriedly, Lance’s eyes widened. “Oh! Sorry! I got all caught up in the moment!” The bandages were hastily smoothed over by Lance’s palm as he tried to rectify his mistake, completely confused at what he was supposed to do.

Keith encaged Lance’s head in his hands, holding him in place and causing his movements to halt entirely. It amazed him and made his heart flutter every time his skin came into contact with Lance. He loved that he didn’t have to worry about hurting Lance accidentally anymore. “I’m fine.” He deadpanned, the corner of his lip quirking upwards slightly.

Suddenly, Lance’s expression turned serious as he stared down at Keith. It took Keith by surprise. “You weren’t, though.” He whispered somberly. “You were asleep for two days, Keith.” Lance swallowed. “They didn’t think you were going to wake up for a while.”

“Oh…” The news jarred Keith a bit. He couldn’t remember much after his battle with King Zarkon but he did remember being thrown around, which explained the soreness in his muscles and the burning in his neck. Two days, though, was longer than he would expect. One second he was being choked out against a cave wall and the next he was waking up with Lance beside his hospital bed. Whatever happened in between, he could not recall. He had been positive that he was going to be killed, either way, and the fact he was alive, two days or not, was a miracle.

Now that he thought about it, what had happened? Why was he no longer Galran? Where was King Zarkon? Where even was he in that moment? Was this all another dream?

Lance seemed to pick up on his sudden confusion at the entire scenario and mirrored Keith’s expression. “Do you remember anything…?”

Keith shook his head and narrowed his eyes. Pushing back, Lance sat cross-legged on the bed. Propping himself up on his elbows, Keith folded his legs together too, although he had to shift one leg so it was slightly ahead of his body because the weight he put on it stung.

A moment passed as they just stared at each other, then Lance sighed and began his explanation. “It was a valiant battle, well fought. Of course, I singlehandedly took Zarkon down, but is anyone really surprised?” His voice was as loud and exaggerated as his gestures.

“Lance.” Sighed Keith, unimpressed.

“Okay, okay. That’s not what happened. So, after you yelled at me to run so you could be a hero, I booked it for Altea. Now–” He put his hands up to placate Keith.

It didn’t do much though, Keith was abruptly angry. “You went to Altea?! Why would you do that?!”

“Keith, calm down. Before you get your mullet in a twist, I have to remind you that you were going to die and I had to do something.” Keith settled but he was still bothered. Those knights ruined everything good in Keith’s life. The entire week he was with Lance was spent keeping him away from the kingdom, then the second he’s busy fighting some King in a cave, Lance goes directly to the kingdom. “They definitely tried to kill me, though. You were right about that.”

“I’ll slaughter them.” Keith was prepared to launch himself out of the bed again.

“Keith! Just let me tell the story!” Lance pushed him back down by his shoulders. “Where was I? Oh, yeah! They were about to shoot me, but King Alfor came out of the castle right at that moment! He has a daughter; did you know that? Her name is Princess Allura. Well, it’s Queen Allura now since she’s next in line to the throne, but we’re not at that part of the story yet.”

Keith was just more confused, but the name caught his attention. “Did you say ‘Allura’?” He knew that name.

“Yes, keep up.” Lance didn’t seem to notice Keith having a mini moment of realization across from him and continued on with his retelling of the events two days prior. “Anyway, Queen Allura told me that King Alfor _had_ been a giant Quintessence crystal this entire time! She also said that because no one could know about the crystal form, since he was supposed to be ruling the kingdom, that left his advisor in charge; Iverson. That’s the guy who tried to kill me. Queen Allura couldn’t be the leader if King Alfor was alive. So, anyway, King Alfor and Princess Allura come out and King Alfor absolutely lays into Iverson for nearly killing me! It was hilarious! I mean, not at the time, because I was crying and stuff, but looking back on it.”

“Iverson, that asshole. I remember him.” Keith mumbled, anger brewing in the pit of his stomach at the name. “He was always giving Shiro hell.”

Lance brightened, sitting up straighter. “That reminds me! We found Shiro.”

Time stopped for a moment. His eyes widened and he stared up at Lance in disbelief. Had he heard Lance correctly? There was no way. “You what?”

“Yeah! He showed up at the castle gate because the curse was gone. He told Queen Allura basically everything that you told me about the knights leaving him for dead, and she had Iverson thrown in the dungeon. _He_ was the one who lead that mission, by the way. What were we expecting though?” Lance laughed. “You’re being welcomed back into the kingdom. In fact, we’re in the kingdom as we speak.” He finished, voice going soft again. “I know you have a whole thing against Altea, but Queen Allura offered you a place to stay in the castle until you get a house.”

Keith, still reeling from the news that his brother was alive and was there, in the kingdom, as they spoke, could hardly believe that he would be invited back home after being kicked out. It almost felt too good to be true. _Was_ this another dream? It had to be. He was tempted to pinch himself but he could tell that it really wasn’t, no matter how implausible it all was. Everything he owned was still in his little shack in the woods and he’d need to collect it. There was no way he was leaving that stuff out there. But he felt… elated. To live in his house in Altea with his brother again would mean the absolute world to him. Lance too, he had his family back and he was safe. He was safe. That sentence set in all at once that Lance was no longer in danger and he was no longer sad. Everything that he had hoped for, and it was his.

“Where is Shiro?” Keith asked hopefully.

“He’s in the hospital too. He wasn’t exactly in one piece when he got here…” Lance muttered, avoiding eye contact.

“What?!” Keith instantly began to fling himself out of bed, ignoring the resistance and pain in his body.

However, Lance shoved him down before he could get far. “Whoa! Stop moving! You’re going to hurt yourself more! Calm down! He was fighting another Galra and he… uh… needed his arm amputated…” Keith’s face went pale and he attempted to push Lance out of the way again. He was still weak though, and Lance, once again, easily shoved him back into the mattress. “You can see him later! He’s sleeping now anyway. You should be sleeping too, it’s getting late.”

“I just woke up.” He countered, although he relented and rested against the wall behind his pillow, no longer fighting to go see Shiro.

“I know but it’s late and–” Lance was cut off by a loud, delighted screech as two kids came rushing into the room.

“No yelling! No running!” An accented female voice boomed from around the corner and shortly after, she entered. A girl and a man entered behind her.

“Mama!” Lance exclaimed.

“He’s alive!” The younger boy cried.

“The bat boy!” The girl called after.

Keith sat in confusion as the children climbed onto the bed next to him and he cautiously leaned away. “Uh…” He dumbly said.

“He’s not a bat boy anymore.” Lance laughed. “Now he’s a human Keith!”

“I’m so sorry!” The woman gave him a sympathetic look as she attempted to remove the children from the bed but the boy latched onto his arm. Keith hissed out a noise of pain and forced a weak smile to Lance’s mother. The boy looked practically like a miniature Lance and he couldn’t help but find the kid cute. As much of a nuisance as he was.

“Hello, Keith! It’s nice to meet you!” The little girl held out her hand and Keith stared at her for a moment in surprise. Then he gently took her hand in his and shook it. Her hair was long and neat, cascading down to her waist and her handshake was firm.

Keith nodded. “Uh… You too…”

The older girl stepped forward, crawling to sit on the bed beside Lance. She was clearly older than Lance but there was a clear sibling resemblance between them. She studied Keith’s face for a moment and Keith suddenly felt self-conscious. He hadn’t been in contact with any humans other than Lance for the past year, and even then, he only knew Lance for around a week, so he wasn’t sure what to do in a situation where someone was sizing him up. Even more so when it was Lance’s sister. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he wanted Lance’s family to like him.

“His eyes are pretty.” She concluded with a serious expression.

A blush crossed Keith’s face at the compliment and Lance sputtered. “What was that?!” He demanded.

“What? He’s hot. For someone who looks like they just fell off a cliff, anyway.” She shrugged and squinted at Keith.

Keith’s face heated up more despite the slight insult.

“Okay, back off. He’s mine.” Lance pointed a finger at her face as a warning.

“Whatever, nerd. I’m still going to teach him to make flower crowns.” Shifting to get off the bed, she began to leave the hospital.

“I’m sorry about her, it was nice to meet you Keith. Thank you so much for helping Lance, truly.” Lance’s father smiled warmly at him before leaving to follow the girl. Keith saw the same warmth in his face that he had seen countless times in Lance’s.

“He’s not much of a talker.” Lance explained, leaning into Keith’s personal space to whisper.

Lance’s mother approached his bed again and he stared up at her in anticipation. She grabbed his hand and Keith nearly flinched. The new change of being able to touch other people was definitely something he would have to get used to. Being in the presence of other people in general was completely new as well. Lance’s family was lovely and he was enjoying meeting them, but it was all very overwhelming, especially while he was in a hospital bed.

“Keith. Lance told us all about his time with you and everything you’ve done for him. Thank you for returning my son to me.” There were tears glistening in her eyes but the expression she gave Keith was so open and genuine that he couldn’t do anything for a moment except look up at her, mouth agape. “You saved his life.” She whispered, nodding to keep the tears from falling, and sniffling.

“He saved my life too.” He found himself saying.

She smiled wider, then leaned down to hug him. Keith didn’t know what to do so he awkwardly wrapped his uninjured arm around her back and gave a hesitant pat. Laughing at his inexperience with human contact, she pulled away, resting her hands gently on his shoulders, staring him in the eye. “You are always welcome in this family, Keith.”

Keith, for the better part of his life, had not had much of a family. When his parents had passed, it was devastating. They used to do everything together. Keith could remember nights when they would all go down to the little lake near the edge of the city and he and Shiro would splash around. Sometimes their father would join them, but usually he would sit with their mother on the edge of the water and yell out arbitrary scores that made no sense as the brothers did their swimming tricks. Keith recalled when they would all sit at the dinner table together and discuss each other’s days. His mother was a seamstress so she would always be making beautiful shirts and flowing dresses. His father, on the other hand, was a woodworker. Much like the guitar Keith had helped make, his father could create all sorts of incredible designs out of nothing but a slab of wood and a carving knife. It was magnificent to watch him do it too.

Then, everything ended. Their parents passed and suddenly dinner was spent with two empty chairs. No one would discuss their days. They would just stare at their food, not saying anything. After a time, Shiro began to try pulling them both out of their silence by talking about his new job as a royal knight. Keith would interject with small points here and there eventually, usually snarky things about Iverson. All in all, he was proud of his brother for getting the position. It seemed they were getting their lives back. They never went to the swimming hole again and they dropped sewing and carving entirely, but they were getting back to themselves. Keith still had a family, even if it was just him and Shiro.

So, when it suddenly wasn’t him and Shiro, Keith felt as if his entire world had been burned to the ground in front of him. If he thought his parents’ death was devastating, then the loss of his brother was even more so. When you lose everything you have, find comfort, and have that comfort ripped away from you, it really hurts you. Keith knew there was no way that his brother’s death was an accident, so a few riots and angry information hunts later, Keith was removed from the city. ‘Removed’ being a nicer word for what really happened. He was arrested, dragged to the gates, and tossed into the dirt, all while threatened with the business end of a bow.

Living in the middle of the woods for a year with the only thing sustaining his sanity being the crazy belief that maybe – _maybe_ – Shiro was still alive, that was Keith’s life and he was convinced the universe hated him, that nothing would ever go right for him. Yet, sitting in that hospital bed covered in scratches and broken bones, Lance cross legged and smiling brightly from the end of his bed, Lance’s family openly welcoming him into their family, the knowledge that Shiro was alive, in the kingdom, and the Galra curse was lifted. It felt as though all the bad events in his life were being quickly rectified by the universe.

Keith probably would have cried when Lance’s mother said those words to him, but he was too tired. Not just from his fight with Zarkon, but also from his entire past year. Instead, he settled for the most genuine smile he had ever given and a soft, nearly inaudible, “Thank you.” And it seemed to be enough for Lance’s mother because she quickly yanked him into another hug then kissed the crown of his head. She did the same for Lance then stood back to stare at the two of them sitting on the hospital bed. Lance’s little brother and sister crowded around their mother’s legs, each hugging one. Her hands reached down to pat both of them on the head. “My boys.” She breathed, her eyes shining brightly.

Lance smiled and shifted to get off the bed. He quickly hurried over to her and pulled her into a hug. His mother laughed and wrapped her arms around him, rocking side to side. As they hugged, Lance’s younger siblings continued to latch onto their mother’s legs. It was an odd sort of family hug but it was a loving one filled with warmth. Keith almost felt like he was intruding just by watching and he looked away to stare at his hands.

The pale of his skin was still a surprising, nearly startling, thing and he smudged his fingers together, feeling the skin. It didn’t feel as soft as his Galra skin had, which he would have described as being almost plush. He felt much different than he had before, like a new person, physically anyway. He could see colour clearer and brighter. He could scratch his itches without worrying about tearing his skin open. He could hear things like a normal person. He could touch people. So much had changed for the better and Keith loved it. He was also afraid though. How would he even integrate back into the civilization that he had once thrived in? Could he and Shiro go back to the life they once had? What about Lance? So much was different, and it was good, but Keith was still vaguely panicked at the prospect of the future. He was getting exhausted already just thinking about it. Maybe Lance had been right when he said Keith could use a few extra hours.

When Keith finally pulled back from his thoughts, he realized that Lance’s mother had left already with both his siblings. Lance was staring at him. “What?” Keith asked.

“It’s just you and I now…” He shuffled his feet for a moment, his arms swinging awkwardly at his sides, and Keith waited. “Would it be weird if I stayed here for the night?” A blush began to rise along his face and he avoided Keith’s eyes.

Keith knew his face was heating up, matching Lance, except his was much more noticeable since he was no longer purple, and that fact was very evident in Keith’s mind. His back straightened slightly and his eyes searched around the practically empty room. “There’s only one bed though…”

Lance’s eyes widened and he rapidly shoved his hands out before him. “No! Not like that! I would just sleep on the floor!” Lance rushed out of the room for a moment and returned with a huge, green blanket and a pillow. “See?” His voice was high pitched and nervous. Red was painted across his face and he gracelessly dumped the supplies onto the floorboards next to Keith’s hospital bed.

“Are you even allowed to stay? Won’t the hospital staff kick you out?” Keith watched as Lance began to unravel his blanket and shake it out through the air.

“Oh, yeah! The nurses let me stay the first night they brought you here.” He paused, realizing what he had just admitted to. “Not that I was watching you sleep or doing anything creepy. I was just worried about you. Because you’re an idiot who runs into battles and plays hero all the time.” He attempted to hide his reddened face with his biting words and turning away from Keith as he fluffed his pillow.

Keith couldn’t help the blooming of warmth in his chest at the notion that Lance had stayed him when he was out cold and injured because he was worried. He smiled as Lance continued to awkwardly hide his face and avoid meeting Keith’s stare. “As long as you don’t snore.” He obnoxiously flung the blankets up and slid farther into the bed, flipping away to face the wall. He could hear Lance sputtering out an offended noise behind him and the corner of his lip quirked upwards against his will.

After a bit more shuffling, the small candle in the corner of the room that had been the only source of illumination was blown out and darkness claimed the area. Keith instinctively tried using his eyes for light but when nothing happened, he felt stupid and relieved all at once. The makeshift bed on the ground beside him ruffled around in the dark and he listened as Lance fumbled to get under the blanket.

A loud thud punctuated the quiet. “Fuck!” Then the sound of what could have been a body landing on hardwood.

“What’re you doing?” It was less of a question and more of a complaint the way Keith had said it.

“I stubbed my toe on the bedframe!” Lance forced out through gritted teeth. “Keith, I might need a hospital bed too.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Keith rolled his eyes to himself.

“I need my entire leg amputated.” Lance whimpered.

“You’re fine.”

“I’m going to die, Keith.” He was really milking his performance and Keith might have actually been concerned if he hadn’t known it was just Lance ramming his foot into the side of the bed.

Keith sighed and rolled over to face the other boy, although it didn’t make much difference in the dark. “You’re not going to die.”

“I am.”

“I’m going to sleep now, Lance.” Eyelids slid shut.

“Maybe if you kiss it better I’ll live.”

Keith snorted, eyes still closed. “You want me to kiss your foot?”

There was a pause of silence. “You’re right, I didn’t think this through.” Another pause. “I should have stubbed my face.” He sounded perplexed and Keith was glad Lance couldn’t see his smile.

“You can’t _stub_ your _face._ ” Keith pointed out, already getting tired of the conversation.

“Fine! I should have _hit_ my face!” Lance huffed.

“I’ll hit your face if you don’t go to sleep.” Keith threatened, cuddling into his pillow, muffling his words in the process.

“Then will you kiss it better?”

Keith chuckled lightly. “Sure. When I’m awake.”

“What?! Why not right now, you’re still awake!” Lance suddenly sat up, Keith could tell by the sound of his voice and blankets.

“Nope, I’m asleep.” Keith reiterated.

“You’re not!” Lance argued.

Keith made an obviously fake snoring sound but began laughing halfway through at the exasperated whine Lance released.

“Go to sleep, Lance.”

Minutes passed and very quickly Lance fell asleep. Keith listened to the deep breathing of the boy on the ground. His eyes had slowly adjusted to the lack of light by the time Lance had lost himself to unconsciousness. Remaining awake for the entire time that Keith had been out probably took a toll on Lance and it only made sense that he would be out in an instant. Keith couldn’t blame him.

Everything was a light outline against the inky black and he had to find things out of his peripheral vision, which he wasn’t used to at all. Lance’s blanket shuffled around and Keith found comfort in the noise and the knowledge that he wasn’t alone. He had grown used to having Lance near him, and ever since their mini sleepover, he had secretly hoped he could wake up next to him again. In fact, that hope was so secret that he hadn’t even realized it until he had woken up with Lance’s sprawled out form next to him on the other side of the pillow wall. Drooling and all, Keith couldn’t help the warmth in his chest. The memory _alone_ brought a smile to his face.

Although, Keith had been asleep for two days and he was not feeling the least bit tired. He shifted his gaze around the room, still struggling to work out how his old eyes functioned. Once he was positive that Lance would not be waking up anytime soon, he slipped a single leg out from underneath his covers, followed gradually by his hips. Every movement made a loud squeaking along the bedframe as he slid out of bed. He didn’t want to wake Lance, not that that boy would wake up, what, with him sleeping like a rock and all.

Gently, Keith pressed his naked feet into the floorboards, cringing and pulling back every time they creaked. Lance didn’t stir. He tiptoed around Lance’s body and toward the door of the room. It scraped along the wood and Keith shushed it as if it would listen to him. “Shut up!” He violently whispered at the door. It didn’t listen. He opened it until he was able to force himself past.

His muscles burned and his various bruises and lacerations stung every time he bumped into a wall or even so much as moved in the wrong way. But he ignored it. Instead, he rushed down the hallway of the hospital, peeking into the windows on some of the doors and flat out opening the ones that had no window. His search ended pretty fast though as he came to a little room marked with a painted seven. As he pressed the door inward, he made eye contact with the occupant of the room. He would recognize those eyes anywhere, despite the white tuft of hair, the missing arm, the scar along the bridge of his nose, and the increased muscle mass.

“Keith!” He exclaimed, tugging the blanket off himself and hurrying over to the boy in the doorway.

“Shiro!” Keith echoed his brother’s excitement and met him halfway. A single arm wrapped around his back and Keith stared angrily at the bandaged, slightly bloody, stub. It wasn’t his fault that Shiro had lost his arm, but Keith couldn’t help but feel guilty as he looked at it. If he had only been faster, smarter, more vigilant in his attempts to find Shiro then it might not have happened at all. Keith let his head fall into his brother’s chest, listening to the beating of his heart. Shiro was alive. Keith was alive. They had both made it. After a year of facing the Galra curse and keeping their humanity, they had both made their way back to Altea to meet again. The family that Keith had lost could still be salvaged and returned to him.

“I missed you so much! I heard you were in a coma, are you alright? Are you even allowed to leave your room?” Shiro asked rapid-fire, pushing Keith away by the shoulder to give him an expression of confused concern.

“Shiro, I’m fine.” He scoffed, crossing his arms.

His brother’s eyebrows narrowed, not believing what Keith was saying. “You shouldn’t be putting stress on your body if you just woke up.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I haven’t seen you in a year and you’re already lecturing me? Really? What about you?” He vaguely gestured to Shiro’s arm. Or lack thereof…

Shiro’s face dropped into one of exasperation and sighed, long and drawn out. “Well, I haven’t been able to use my arm for a while, but it’s… weird… having it gone entirely. But it was my left arm anyway. Just my right arm is _left_ now.” The corner of his mouth tilted upwards despite his attempts not to laugh.

Keith felt bad for laughing at the joke. “That’s so lame.” He muttered.

Shiro broke after Keith said that, huffing out a laugh of his own. “It took me an hour to think of that. Now, come here and catch up with me.” He motioned for Keith to follow him to the bed and he dropped down next to his pillow.

“I don’t have much to share, really.” Keith informed while seating himself on the bed across from Shiro, crossing his legs and hissing lightly at the sting of pain in his ankle. “I basically just spent all my time in a shack in the woods.”

Shiro’s eyes widened at that. “You were living in the woods?! What were you doing?!” He fired off as if this was the worst news of his life.

“I was looking for you.” Keith responded, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“Keith! You could have been cursed!”

“I was!” At that, Shiro just stared at Keith quietly for a moment. He appeared like he might burst a blood vessel any second and Keith began to wonder if he had said the wrong thing.

A moment later, Shiro responded. “You what?!”

“Shiro, calm down!” Keith glanced to the door nervously. Shiro had been right in that he really wasn’t supposed to be leaving his room. Getting caught because of Shiro’s exaggerating would just be his luck.

“No one told me this! Altea didn’t hurt you, did they?” Shiro’s eyes scanned the cuts and bruises littering Keith’s body with a new fury in his eyes. “If they did, I swear I’ll–”

Keith cut him off. “No, Shiro, I’m fine. You were cursed too, I don’t know what you’re on about.”

Their eyes met, both staring at the other in defiance. Finally, Shiro sighed. “We’re both fine and that’s what matters.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well, but Keith said nothing. “I should have known you’d do something stupid like leave Altea.” He murmured.

“I didn’t leave. I was exiled.” Keith crossed his arms and pouted.

“Of course you were.” Although Shiro couldn’t physically sigh for more than a couple seconds, he could mentally sigh for the following twenty years, which he did. “You are so lucky Altea is letting you stay.”

“All I did was call out Iverson.” He defended.

A stony, faraway look came over Shiro’s face at the mention of the name. He nodded slowly. “Alright, understandable.”

Keith wanted to know what exactly Iverson and his goons did to Shiro the day he never returned home, but he also didn’t want to know. Shiro probably didn’t want to be reminded anyways, so he left it alone, choosing a different topic instead. “Where were you living?”

“One of the evacuated villages, near the eastern mountains.” He explained.

“Oh, Arus?” Keith could recall when the Arusian people were moved to the new houses in Altea after being forced to leave their village for fear of the curse. There weren’t a lot of them, most having been claimed by the curse, but he could vividly remember their tear stained, closed off expressions. That had been the first village to be moved.

Shiro nodded. “That’s the one. It took me awhile to run here after the curse lifted.” He smiled at Keith then and Keith returned it. “But we’re both back now, and we get to stay.” Shiro’s eyebrows suddenly dropped, however, and his smile morphed into something smug and knowing. “Now, what about that boy? Lance, was it?” A smirk began to form along his brother’s face and he leaned closer. It was obvious Shiro knew Lance’s name, it was not a question.

A cloud of red instantly bloomed along Keith’s cheeks and he tensed his shoulders as if he had been caught. “He was just some boy. Who I met. I mean, I took him in. He was looking for his family and he’s kind of naïve.” Keith brushed his hand through the air as if to dismiss Shiro.

“Uh huh. Just some boy you like. But alright, don’t tell your brother about your boyfriend.” Shiro sarcastically commented.

If it was possible, Keith’s face got redder. “He’s not my boyfriend.” He muttered, glancing away to glare at the wall.

“Yeah, and I have two arms.” Keith felt bad for laughing once again.

The pair continued to share events from the previous year of their lives, including all the depressing, exciting, and angering moments they could remember. They both laughed and smiled more the longer they spent chatting with each other. Hours went by but they hardly noticed, too engrossed in their discussion. Eventually they moved on to the topic of finding a place to live and getting jobs. Although it would be difficult, they could rebuild their old lives, and even improve them. They talked until fatigue finally caught up to Shiro, and Keith was forced to head back to his own room, leaving Shiro to sleep.

Pressing the door opened as quietly as he could, Keith entered his hospital room. The floorboards still creaked as he raced across them on his tiptoes and the mattress of the bed squeaked when he pounced on it, but he didn’t stop to check if it had woken Lance. His plan was just to pretend he had been asleep. He threw the covers over his body, snuggling deeper into the plush comforter. Lance hadn’t heard him though, still sound asleep. Exhausted as he was physically, his brain was still wide awake, so he decided to absently stare down at Lance while he slept for a few minutes. He realized it was weird and vaguely creepy, but it was only because he found it endearing the way Lance’s hair was ruffled and his face was squished against the pillow. Keith smiled to himself and let his eyes slowly close, hoping to get at least the little bit of sleep in before he needed to be awake again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only reason I wrote this story at all was because it was the middle of the night and I was eating goldfish and staring at the moon outside while listening to soft music and all I wanted was for Keith and Lance to be so happy about holding each other's hand that they cry. That's it. That's why this thing exists at all. I hope you all love this chapter as much as I do because I put my heart into it.  
> One chapter left!


	15. After All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. The epilogue, essentially.

Over the course of that year, many things had changed in the kingdom of Altea. For one, many houses had been destroyed by an out-of-control fire and were in the process of being rebuilt, the walls around the kingdom had become more guarded, and the Royal Altean Knights had become more corrupt. Even after a year, things continued to change. The most major change was the destruction of the Galra curse and the death of the Kings. Although everyone had been in varying states of shock at the news their King had died, it was accepted among the Altean citizens that Allura be their new Queen. Allura had been running the kingdom for many years before then anyways – not that the towns folk knew that – and so it wasn’t that much of a leap when she was crowned. Many of the Royal Altean Knights who had not accepted the elimination of the curse were forcefully discharged from their positions.

Another huge change was the reunion of many families. People who had been cursed and had lived in the outside eventually made their way back to the kingdom, fully Altean again. Not too many had remained alive and kept their humanity, but those that did were easily welcomed back to the kingdom. Everyone had been hesitant at first, but once it was clear that the curse was lifted, things settled down.

Speaking of settling down, Keith and Shiro had made their home again. It was a far cry from the house they used to share with their parents, but it suited them nicely and they couldn’t have asked for more. Shiro had been busy at the castle a lot anyways, and not only because he was reinstated as a knight, but also because he and the Queen had hit it off quite well. No matter how much Shiro denied it being anything more than friendship, Keith wasn’t blind to the obvious blush his brother sported every time the topic resurfaced.

Keith, despite his loathing toward the previous ways of the knights, applied to be one himself. Part of him wanted to change the values of the system so nothing like what he had witnessed would ever happen again, and part of him was just riding off of his childhood dreams of following in Shiro’s footsteps. Besides, if there was one thing that Keith had gotten good at outside of the kingdom walls, it was fighting. Keith was accepted easily. He excelled in the training and with pointers from Shiro here and there, he rapidly rose in rank.

Lance, after moving back in with his family in their new house, pursued a career as a baker. It hadn’t been his original choice, in fact, he hadn’t had a real career path to follow. He had always assumed he would become a gardener like his father. Being a baker, however, brought him more joy than gardening ever had, and he wasn’t completely sure, but he had a strange suspicion that being away from his mother’s baking – thinking he’d never get a chance to experience it again – and also helping Keith with his baking disasters had really cemented the idea for him. He owned a successful little bakery which his parents had helped him pay for. In exchange, he would bring them loaves of bread, pies, and various other things from his shop. Lance, ever the social butterfly, made fast friends with all his neighbours and the neighbours of his bakery. He also got to know the neighbours by Keith’s house since he spent so much time over there.

Despite only knowing each other a week, and it being under less than ideal circumstances, they both agreed that their relationship was worth pursuing. Of course, they didn’t jump right into it, but as love does, it grew into something overwhelming and beautiful very fast. Keith had nearly passed out the first time he used the word “boyfriend” to describe Lance, as socially stunted as the poor boy was.

Lance’s family adored Keith though, practically adopting him on the spot. Lance’s younger brother would constantly ask Keith all sorts of questions about his job as a knight and his life in the woods, and Keith would awkwardly share – omitting the parts about the dead Galran people, of course. If it haunted him, it would surely haunt a child.

His younger sister was very excited about Keith’s hair. Apparently, living in a house of people with short hair was a struggle, especially when her older sister wasn’t exactly willing to lend out her long hair. Keith, although he wasn’t a fan of the styles, would let her braid his hair and shape it however she wanted. Often times he would return home with pigtails and clips in his hair – because he wasn’t allowed to ruin the design – and Shiro would stifle his laughter. Lance always found it endearing when Keith would let his younger sister play hairdresser, but he couldn’t let Keith know that. Instead, he would laugh and call him a mullet.

Lance’s older sister did eventually teach Keith to make flower crowns. It was accompanied by lots of groaning in frustration, yipping, and flower crown insults from the both of them. His flower crowns were still terrible, they looked more like flowers strung together haphazardly in sad ovals, but they could be worn atop a head and that was good enough for Keith. It was good enough for Lance’s sister too, apparently. That, or she gave up teaching him. In the time it took for Keith to kind of learn, he also memorized the names of many flowers and many interesting facts about said flowers. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do with that information, but he deemed it important and filed it away for later.

Lance’s mother was a lovely woman – Keith came to know that fact minutes after meeting her – and she was very good at everything, it seemed. It reminded Keith a lot of his own mother, from what he could remember of her. One thing that really stood out about Lance’s mother was her cooking. Keith had helped her once or twice with making dinner and she would lightly tap his face before loudly announcing to the rest of the house how helpful he was being, attempting to bait the others into assisting her. She also agreed with Keith that Lance’s salad pieces were ridiculously large and he needed to break them up more. Lance refused to make salad with either of them again after that.

As nice a man as he was, Lance’s father didn’t seem all that talkative. Keith could respect that, being a introvert himself. Occasionally, he would offer Keith a basket of vegetables from their family garden to take home. It never felt awkward around him though, he had a way of making anyone feel as though they had known him for years. On more than one visit, Keith had had a full conversation with him. The conversations they did have were always about gardening. Lance’s father was actually great company when he got talking about something he was passionate about, which, coincidentally, was something Keith was also passionate about. Even if they didn’t talk to each other too much, they had a strange friendship.

Shiro became fast friends with Lance and Lance’s family as well. Sometimes, on special occasions, Shiro and Keith would stay at Lance’s house for dinner. Although they were both adults, the brothers had practically been adopted by Lance’s mother and whenever Christmas or Easter came around, both families would get together for dinner.

Three years had passed and Keith’s life had never been better. He hoped Lance could say the same thing, and he hoped he made Lance even half as happy as Lance made him. But as the boy gripped Keith’s wrist and dragged him through the crowds of people in town square, smiling brightly and glancing back at Keith as he hurried, Keith couldn’t help but think that maybe Lance really was as happy as he was. Many things had changed in the year that Keith had been living in the woods, but one thing that hadn’t changed was the yearly Fire Festival. Keith had gone to it every year when his parents were able to take him. He and Shiro had continued to go to the festival even after the passing of their parents, although it hadn’t been nearly as fun then. Being back at the festival again was a fantastic and nostalgic feeling even if he had gone the previous year with Lance.

Music blared across the marketplace and people cheered loudly all around them as they darted through everyone. Lights cast obscure shadows over everything against the inky night. Keith’s shoulder bumped into a lady as he was yanked along and he shouted an apology back to her, although it was drowned out in all the noise. Lance slowed down as they came to the destination he had been heading toward and his hand slipped from Keith’s wrist to thread through his fingers.

There was a small clearing with people scattered about it. Everyone was dancing, either on their own, with a partner, or in large groups. The music was loudest near the square of dancers and Keith couldn’t hear anything besides the upbeat song. Lance stepped into the opening, pulling Keith with him. After they were an adequate distance into the center, Lance turned to face Keith, grabbing his hands properly. His eyes were widened in excitement and the blue shimmered from the coloured lanterns that hung overtop the festival along clotheslines. He said something to Keith but it was far too loud for Keith to hear, no matter how loudly Lance yelled. Seemingly tipped off by Keith’s confused expression, he repeated the question, slightly louder, although still inaudible. Keith tried reading Lance’s lips but it didn’t help him much. Lance gave up after, instead choosing to pull Keith closer and begin stepping around the cobblestone dancefloor in a fast-paced rhythm. It was difficult for Keith to keep up at first, but he got the hang of it. Dating Lance for three years had led to many instances of dancing as Lance was very much the dancing type, but Keith was pretty much born with two permanent left feet, he learned though.

Lance, gently cupping Keith’s hands with his own, continued to maneuver and spin around the clearing. They never once bumped into anyone else as Lance guided Keith from one end of the square to the other. The music was deafening and Keith was sure they’d all have hearing problems afterwards, but the pure elation on Lance’s face as they glided around told Keith that it would be worth it if he got to see that expression.

Suddenly, Lance stopped moving. He continued to dance but instead of leading the pair, he raised one arm – still latched onto Keith – and pulled Keith to the side and under his arm. World spinning with bright lights and hordes of people, Keith was momentarily disorientated. It took him a second to even realize he was back where he had started. Lance was laughing, and although he couldn’t hear it very well through the music, he had heard the sound enough for his brain to fill it in. He found himself laughing too.

Lance tried to the spin again, but this time, Keith was prepared. He didn’t need to be forced through under Lance’s arm, he just followed Lance’s lead and when it was clear Lance was initiating the move, Keith went for it. The smile on Lance’s face when he executed the turn just grew. Keith couldn’t be sure, but he was probably mirroring the other’s smile.

The beat of the music thundered on. Keith could feel it in his feet and in his heart as the beats synchronized. Everything felt loud and manic but it wasn’t bad. The people around him were hopping, spinning, clapping, stomping, moving with the song and not a single person appeared unhappy. Altea’s Fire Festival was a marvel, an incredible event that people used to travel to see. Keith understood why, even when he was younger. The feeling he got when he was amongst the other civilians, just dancing and eating, experiencing everything their kingdom had to offer, playing games, and – the most incredible part of the festival night – when they lit the bonfire. That feeling was one of pure euphoria and belonging, of being transported to an untouchable celebration where blinking once could shatter the whole illusion, and it was seducing him in and trapping him. It could be felt deep within him and he never wanted to leave. Keith, being quite the loner, never liked interacting with other people too much. Some contact was alright, but too much would overwhelm him and he would get uncomfortable. It wasn’t his element; social gatherings. But under the night sky and shining lanterns, being caressed by the music, shoulder-to-shoulder with his fellow civilians. That felt perfect.

Being joined by Lance only made the feeling sweeter.

They continued to twirl and caper, weaving through the crowds of people as the crowds of people weaved by them. Keith had gotten into the rhythm of it by then, mimicking Lance’s feet, and they were travelling much smoother. A laugh bubbled out of Keith throat before he even had time to process it. Lance noticed, whether it was by the movement of Keith’s face and body, or Keith was just laughing that loud, but Lance faltered in his steps, causing Keith to nearly trip into him. His blue eyes were staring at him with such adoration and affection. It distracted them both long enough that Keith did end up having his back slammed directly into the arm of a lady who was dancing with her partner. After apologizing as best they could with facial expressions and single-handed gestures, the lady smiled and waved it off.

The song eventually ended, and although Keith enjoyed the feeling of the tune flowing over him as he spun around with Lance, it was also nice to give his ears a break from the blaring noise. Lance pulled Keith up against his chest as the song closed and giggled into the shorter boy’s hair.

“Testing one, two, three!” Lance screamed at Keith, still laughing. Keith had to flinch back at the sudden volume but he smiled all the same. It was definitely loud to Keith but everyone around them were still cheering and yelling, so none of them noticed.

“What’re you doing?” Keith’s question came out louder than he had intended too.

His volume returning to normal, Lance explained. “I was making sure you weren’t deaf!”

Keith rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the twitch of his lips upwards. Without waiting for an answer, Lance began to pull him away. They wandered through the people, less frenzied than before they had danced, but no less excited. Keith wasn’t sure about Lance, but he was sweaty from all vigorous movement while surrounded by others on a warm night. Their hands, intertwined, were coated in sweat, and disgusting as it was, Keith couldn’t bring himself to let go of Lance’s hand. He told himself it was because he would lose the excitable boy amongst the crowds if he didn’t, but he wasn’t sure why he was lying to himself, it was obvious to anyone who had known Lance and Keith for more than a minute that the pair were inseparable. Keith just _wanted_ to hold Lance’s hand, as sweaty as it was.

Lance led the pair to the table of food. The Great Feast was an important part of the Fire Festival and everyone knew that if you were at the festival then you couldn’t leave without trying the food and seeing the fire. It was a long table through the middle of the main street leading to the castle and it was lined with all sorts of food items from turkey to vanilla cake.

Once they were at the table, Lance let Keith’s hand go in favour of grabbing two apples. Huge grin on his face, he turned to Keith, offering an apple to him. Keith accepted the apple. The lantern lights near the table were lower than the ones by the city square and they cast a warm red and orange glow over Lance’s face, complimenting his bronze skin. It made everything feel even more otherworldly. Lance’s eyes continued to shine a brilliant blue, even with the red and orange light. It was mesmerizing.

Lance moved down the table, choosing whatever he decided looked appealing. He took a bite out of a small beef bun he had collected, humming loudly, eyes widening in Keith direction. Swallowing quickly, he shoved the sandwich into Keith’s hands. “You _have_ to try this!” He exclaimed. Keith smiled and took a bite, just to humour Lance. What he wasn’t expecting was a burst of tender, sweet flavour, flowing over his tongue. He had expected it to be dry and stiff, but it wasn’t. The meat practically peeled apart between his teeth. His eyes closed and he groaned in pleasure. “Good, right?” Lance smirked, knowingly, and led Keith farther down the table to try different foods.

Something caught Keith’s eye as they went and he halted, tipping off Lance, who turned to see what Keith was doing. “Did you see something?” He asked, attempting to discern what Keith was inspecting.

“That’s so weird…” Keith muttered.

“What is?” Lance squinted across the table.

Leaning closer to the table and picking up a small metal bowl, he stared into it. “Lance, can you believe this?” His voice was incredulous and he moved he bowl toward Lance.

It was a bowl of garden salad.

“Believe what…?” Lance’s brows furrowed in confusion. He continued examining the salad.

“That the salad pieces were broken up in reasonable sizes.” Keith clicked his tongue, ignoring the way Lance’s face suddenly went flat. “How crazy is that?”

“Are you ever going to let me be free of this torment?” Lance dramatically sighed, staring off into the middle distance.

Keith shook his head. “Unless you’re making salad for people with freakishly big mouths…” His eyebrows raised in accusation.

The dead expression of Lance was suddenly revived, rapidly morphing into a sly smirk and lidded, flirty eyes. “I guess I’ve just got a big mouth.” His smirk grew. Lance just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make jokes, could he?

“Oh, you’ve definitely got a big mouth alright.” Keith agreed exasperatedly, although with a different meaning. His arms crossed over his chest and he leaned his lower back into the table beside him.

“All the better to smile with, my dear!” Lance smiled at Keith, overdramatic and unnatural, showing off all his teeth. He picked up another food from the table but it was too fast for Keith to tell what it was and he hid it behind his back. “Close your eyes.” Lance instructed, a smirk on his face.

Squinting in suspicion, Keith turned his torso to better face Lance. “Why?”

“Just do it.” His smile widened.

Sighing, Keith obeyed. His eyelids shut.

“Open your mouth.” Keith didn’t do anything for a minute, clenching his mouth tighter, if anything. “C’mon, Keith!”

Rolling his eyes – although no one could see it – Keith reluctantly opened his mouth a fraction. Something was shoved into his mouth. Keith spat it out, startled, and stepped backwards, opening his eyes to glare at the offender. “Lance?!” He shouted.

“Close your eyes!” Lance reiterated impatiently.

“What are you doing?” Keith was thoroughly confused.

“You have to guess what food it is!” Lance whined.

Sighing once again, Keith let his eyes close. He could still hear the music in the distance from the town square and he was aware of the bodies flittering around him. It made him uncomfortable not being able to see his surroundings, but he could hear them, and Lance was there. He was fine.

Once again, a piece of mystery food was jammed into his mouth, getting caught on his teeth. “Keith, you need to open your mouth wider.”

“Can’t I just eat it on my own?” Keith asked, exasperated. He knew the answer though.

“No! It’s not romantic that way!” Lance was standing right in front of him staring at him with that face he always made when something didn’t work out the way he had planned it in his head. Eyesight or not, Keith could feel the stare.

He grumbled. “Nothing about this is romantic.”

“That’s because someone is ruining it. Who is that someone, you ask? Oh, that’s right. It’s you.” Shuffling was heard even over the loud music and Keith was sure it was Lance mirroring his body posture, crossing his arms.

Giving in to the demands, Keith opened his mouth wider. This time the food didn’t hit his teeth when Lance fed him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that to any onlookers it may have looked weird, maybe even romantic, but he also couldn’t bring himself to care. As much of a pain in the ass Lance was sometimes, Keith secretly enjoyed his antics. Even the food taste test. The taste wasn’t bad. It wasn’t a flavour he was particularly fond of, being too sour, but he could appreciate it under certain circumstances. He remembered how he used to grow it in his tiny garden along the side of the cabin in the woods and he could tell what the taste belonged to instantly.

“Quince.” He answered through his chewing while opening his eyes.

Lance was watching him excitedly and his face brightened when Keith had given his response. “You got it! Raw quince is so gross, how can you eat that?” Features scrunching up, Lance turned to glare at the bowl of bright yellow quince in disgust.

The couple made their away around the entire table, hand in hand, taste testing foods and guessing what they were. Lance was in the lead, but it was a close call. All the strange, woodland plants and wild animal meats were Keith’s expertise, but anything having to do with pastries or village-grown vegetables, Lance had that market cornered. Lance was appalled to learn that Keith didn’t know what a galette was and immediately filled him up on it, educating him on the exact way it was prepared and just how delicious it was when made by the right hands. Keith had to agree, it was very good. Lance’s was probably better though. He had such precise fingers.

Once they were done raiding the tables, Keith completely filled with various pastries which Lance had been telling him about, they decided that it was about time they made their way to the bonfire. That was why everyone came to the Fire Festival, after all.

Pushing through the crowds of people with Lance pressed up against his back so they wouldn’t lose each other, Keith led them to the fire. It wasn’t as claustrophobic at the actual fire as it was everywhere else. They could both stand comfortably without worrying about someone bumping into them. They both stared up at the mass of fire. The bonfire blazed in front of them, burning large and bright, surrounded by various people. It was part of the tradition that people would throw something into the fire. Usually it was animal bones, which people collected from their meals, but other people brought objects that represented something they wanted to change or get rid of in their life. Keith was one of those people.

Sweat rolled down Keith’s forehead as he stepped up to the fire, wave after wave of heat hitting him. He had to blink his eyes a few times when it stung, but he continued to inch closer. It was in his pocket, he could feel it, weighing his jacket down slightly. He reached in and gripped it, maybe harder than was necessary. Breathing a quick breath through his nose, he pulled it out of his pocket and chucked it toward the flames licking at the sky. A key sailed through the air and Keith watched it, almost in slow motion. Then it was gone. The key to his study in the cottage in the woods. He had had it around his neck for the longest time since it had become an obsessive habit when he was still Galran to have the key on his person at all times. But at that point in Keith’s life, happily living in Altea with a job that he enjoyed, his brother safe and at his side, and the beautiful boy – who was holding his hand quite firmly in that moment – it just felt wrong to keep the key anymore. As if he was planning to return someday, which he wasn’t. It was best that Keith let go, and it had lifted a weight off Keith’s shoulders that he hadn’t even realized was there.

Lance’s turn. He reached into the pocket of his pants and removed it. It was a small square of white fabric. Lance crumpled it up and chucked it into the fire. After fluttering through the air, it landed on the edge of the fire, just barely in it, and they both observed it as it burned. A hole formed in the center of it, fire eating at the edges and colouring the piece brown, then black as it slowly became ash.

As far as Keith could tell, the object itself didn’t hold any significance. He looked to Lance with a questioning expression.

Lance must have caught on because he briefly explained. “I never want to feel as helpless as I did when you told me the truth about the kingdom and the cloth in the woods. So, it’s like a piece of the cloths? I don’t know, it sounds stupid out loud.” He trailed off, face reddening in embarrassment.

“No, I know what you mean.” Keith reassured, squeezing Lance’s hand.

The brunette looked up at him again, eyes soft and vulnerable. Keith had known that Lance had felt that way when they were in the woods and he knew that all Lance wanted to do was to prevent the senseless murder and the curse somehow, in any way he could. But there was nothing anyone could have done at that time. Keith could understand why that feeling would be something he would want to throw away, he had been there too. Keith gently pulled Lance into a hug. He wasn’t usually ever so affectionate, it was just the way he was, so he wasn’t sure what overtook him in that moment. Perhaps it was the overwhelming feeling that memories of the woods brought him or maybe it was the look in Lance’s eyes, as if he could be shattered by even a slight gust of wind. Maybe it was the low lights and the crackling fire, but whatever it was, Keith suddenly needed to hug Lance, to be closer to Lance.

Lance hugged him back without hesitation but he still chuckled lightly and tried lightening the mood, as Lance did. “Whoa, who are you and what have you done with Keith?”

Keith punched him in the shoulder softly but didn’t pull back from the embrace. “Shut up.” He mumbled into Lance’s collarbone.

Lance laughed. “Are you alright?” He asked, tilting his head down to better speak to Keith.

“Yeah, just…” Just what? Happy? Tired? Affectionate? He didn’t finish his sentence. Lance hugged him tighter, huffing a breath of air into Keith’s hair.

There was a pause of contented happiness as the conversation lulled and the boys held each other. Then Lance tentatively broke the silence. “Keith,” He muttered into the shorter boy’s temple. “I love you.”

A smile pulled at Keith’s face and he smothered himself into the base of Lance’s neck to hide his growing blush. “I love you too, Lance.” He whispered back. Even with the fairly loud noise around them, they could hear each other perfectly fine, as if in their own little bubble.

“Keith…?” It seemed like a nervous question and Keith pulled his face away from Lance to stare at his expression. It wasn’t the same as the one Lance had made a moment earlier when they were talking about his choice for the fire. This expression was much more anxious and it worried Keith. He nodded to signal to Lance that he was listening. Lance continued. “Would you…” He cleared his throat when his voice cracked. “Would you wanna move in with me?” He quickly forced out.

Keith stared up at him, processing the words.

“I mean, we would get our own house. My house has too many people in it and I wouldn’t invite myself to live in your house. That would be rude and stepping over so many boundaries. There are some things you just don’t do, ya know? Even though we’ve been together for a long time. Three years, actually. That’s a long time, Keith. Long enough to live together? I don’t know! I think so! It’s totally fine if you don’t think so though, it was just a suggestion. An offer, even.” Lance was rambling. Keith could feel the other’s arms slowly slipping away from him the longer Keith went without answering, rejection clouding his eyes. But Keith was lost in thought.

He had been living with Shiro for the past three years and it had been everything that brought him comfort. But sometimes, Lance would stay over, or Keith would stay over at Lance’s house. An arm would wrap around his lower abdomen, pulling him closer in the bed they would share. Warmth radiating over his back from the body behind him. Small whispers of breath over his neck and ear while the boy snored. Drifting into sleep feeling safer than ever. Other times he would be the one holding Lance, pressing his forehead into Lance’s neck and listening to the boy’s laughing.

Waking up with Lance next to him was something that Keith loved and looked forward to every chance he got. The idea of waking up next to Lance _every day_ was an entirely different thing though, and it lurched his heart. He wanted that. Keith wanted to roll over and see Lance’s sleepy, smiling face every morning. To sit and have breakfast with him every day, helping to make it with him every day, wrapping his arms around Lance’s waist and resting his chin on Lance’s shoulder as he cooked every day. That’s what he wanted. He hadn’t realized he’d wanted that before, but after the thought was planted into his mind, it suddenly seemed like such an obvious thing. Living with Lance. Being with Lance every day.

Keith would still see Shiro daily; they worked at the castle together, and all. Shiro wouldn’t be alone either. He spent a lot of time at the castle with Allura anyways and Keith knew that Shiro would sometimes stay home to make sure he wasn’t lonely when all Shiro wanted to do was be with Allura. He wasn’t leaving Shiro forever, he would just be in a different house. A house with Lance. His and Lance’s house. That thought brought a fuzzy feeling to his chest and his heart rate sped up. Sure, he and Lance had practically lived together when they were in the woods, but that was only for around a week, they weren’t dating, they couldn’t even touch each other, and Lance was a guest. It was completely different.

Lance had a look of pure dejection on his face. He probably thought he had ruined everything. When the pair had first started dating, Lance would assume he had destroyed the entire relationship anytime he initiated something new and Keith would startle at it. It wasn’t because it was an unwelcome thing, it just wasn’t something that Keith was used to. Lance was in his own head too much about those sorts of things.

Pulling Lance back into the tight embrace they had had before, Keith smiled. His smile was loud, bigger than his usual smiles. Just holding his muscles in that position hurt Keith’s face but he couldn’t bring himself to stop, he was too excited.

“Yeah.” He breathed.

“Yeah?” Lance asked, adopting his contagious excitement, yet still unsure.

“Let’s move in together.” Keith slid his arms up Lance until they were wrapped around his neck. His forehead pressed against Lance’s and they made eye contact. It was all very intimate and Keith didn’t even have time to blush at their proximity when he was so distracted by the idea of living with Lance. His chin shifted down and he quickly pecked Lance’s lips before returning to rest his forehead again.

Lance, completely red, swallowed and nodded. “I knew you couldn’t resist my charm.” He quipped, although it was so heavy with welled up emotion that it didn’t have the desired effect.

Keith, an enormous smile gracing his features, laughed into the air between them and mumbled quietly. “Guess not.” There was obvious emotion behind his words as well. Any residual worry that Lance had had towards his question to Keith had vanished and as they stared at each other, they both knew that they would be alright.

Home, after all, is where the heart is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, that's it then!  
> When I finished writing this, it felt a little bit sad that I would have to leave this tiny AU, because I fell in love with the idea of them just living in the woods. But that was alright, because that just meant I could start posting it!  
> But now, it has come to an end, and it's a little sadder than I thought it would be!  
> I do plan to write other stories in the future and have already written some other ones, so there's more than enough material to keep myself busy with - and to fill the void - but I guess there's just something about finally finishing your very first story that just kind of feels final and official.  
> This has been a fun journey, and I appreciate every single kudo, comment, and hit I got, thank you to everyone! I hope the story itself, as a whole, was satisfying and brought you everything you were looking for, from beginning to end, or that, at the very least, it made you smile once.
> 
> I suppose that's all I wanted to say. Thank you, everyone!
> 
> -Sheksper

**Author's Note:**

> Hey again.  
> Thanks so much for reading up to this point! I hope it wasn't a total bore, things'll get more interesting, maybe, hopefully.


End file.
